


A Queenly Restart.

by An_Ephemeral_Walk



Series: Inkwell spill [1]
Category: Cuphead (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Gen, Not all parts will be connected, You've read my other stuff, but all follow the same thread, but it will, but unlike my other oneshot collection, genderbent, its part one of a series of one shots, maybe not right now, oh thats right, this is my tribute to the spookier side of this season, this one will have free reign, you know this series is going to have all the gang.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-01-02 22:02:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 40,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21168575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/An_Ephemeral_Walk/pseuds/An_Ephemeral_Walk
Summary: The first of a journey down a haunted path into the many twists and turns presented to a multi-verse.AKA my take on the first meeting between Devil and Queen Dice.I would have called this a Human AU but that would be false advertising in regards to Devil not being human.In a club, once a prime location for the upper echelon of society to loosen up in the presence of equally high class peers, now a facade hiding more than just dry rot. Where the glitz of the exterior is only matched by the artful centerpiece, and the prized lady of the stage. Adored by those who huddle in the musty building for some semblance of peace, of times once as gilded as the place was. With a voice rumored to be such that even angels can't resist its call, she lights up that tiny corner of the world with her presence alone. So of course, when she goes missing after rumors of her leaving spread, the suspicions towards the less than savory boss abound, but lead nowhere. Instead they are eclipsed by talk of a new twist to the decaying place. Of a spirit both vengeful and playful. Such rumors catch the attention of a wandering beast.





	1. Chapter 1

It was a façade. A false face of glitz and glamour, ritz pouring out of every cheap streak of gold. A bar pretending to be a night club pretending to be an upstanding place for the well-to-do to visit. Dapper door guards tipping their hats to the smiling patrons entering through the front, uniforms pressed and polished to perfection. Pristine brickwork shining brilliantly under the warm light of the tasteful, eye-catching neon lights forming both the sign and decorative lines aimed at drawing the eye. From the front, it was a respectable place.

But inside, the glamor began to fade. A beauty with a filthy interior, born from the popularity of the races outshining the quieter trade of chips and pocket change scrounged up for one last desperate bid for more than the few cents they had to offer. Carpet floors that creaked under kitten heels, cleaned enough to not stick, but little more. Smoke darkened the high ceiling, turning it a mottled yellow, a far cry from its former polished cherry oak. Gorgeous chandeliers none of those enjoying the various liquors below would notice lacked pieces of crystal. Not when they still dripped enough light to make it easy to feel warm, before even taking the first sip of whiskey or gin.

The front area’s carpet pattern was unrecognizable, worn from countless patrons shoes. In a home, some would consider the carpet well-loved. But there, those who even cared to spare it a glance would glower and look away, not keen on seeing through what the façade promised. What the white walls decorated with equally faded patterned wallpaper thickly layered in areas to combat fade and time failed to hide. They’d long since removed the carpet by the bar, choosing to leave it to tile to make the lives of the workers and the cost of cleaning down. The tiles themselves, done in an impressive pattern, was a far cry from its original glory.

But not everything was dull. The bar itself, bottles artfully organized, glass perfectly shined and restocked to give the illusion of a beast with green eyes, watching those who drank and danced on the floor before the stage. The second floor as well, reserved for the luxurious guests entering through the front. Pristine carpets, carved tables hidden below snow-white cotton. Chairs comfortable enough to lean back in, inviting patrons to converse, enjoy themselves, and the stage below.

Not tucked away, but kept far enough from the tables where gamblers got their fix so the performances never bothered them, sat the stage. To either side of the entrance, tables dotted the floor, for dealers and diners alike. The bar sat in the center, and behind it, the stage. There were booths around the stage, a few tables here or there, but the central part just before the stage was left clear for the dancing crowd. It too, made the deceptive entrance less of a liar. Bright wood pristinely polished to a shine the tiles could be jealous of, lights placed just perfectly to allow maximum effect. A grand piano cleaned to a mirror shine, glinted at all times, winking at the patrons, promises and whispers of a performance guaranteed to match its majesty in every spot of light that caught the gaze.

And there was a reason for it. A reason why the building could afford the luxury of the top floor that didn’t come from glasses and liquid courage. A star who’s face alone drew people in. With her eyes so green in color they almost resembled precious emeralds, lined with thick lashes, surrounded by smooth skin. A beauty with perfect black hair falling to her shoulders in the pageboy waves Hollywood stars made popular. A voice that some argued could call angels down from above with a simple hum to come from full, plush, painted lips. When she came on stage, often in her perfectly tailored gowns, she became the center of attention. Her charisma, her ability to work the crowd, drag even the gambling addicts away from their game if but for a moment, spoke to many of how there was no doubt that without her, the building would fall to the same dingy ruin many of the others of its ilk had.

Whatever mood struck her was what she’d sing. From the upbeat jazz, to the soulful blues, to the smoothest of swing that could fill the coldest night with warmth, she sang it all. Her voice a power all of its own kind. If her face lured patrons in, it was her voice that kept them addicted for more. And she knew it. No one remembered what her original name was, none could remember her ever telling them. She went by Queen. And when she deigned to watch the tables, slide around the less reputable men and women with the ease of a swan over night darkened waters, some joked she was Queen Dice. For those she found interesting always left with heavy pockets and an enamored heart.

No one touched her, none felt they could.

Some would claim it was that they feared she’d leave if she felt insulted, and no one wanted that. Others would scoff and point to the upper floor, towards the back, where the boss hid, and loudly remind them that _if _anyone fancied her, they surely went _missing_, “found a job downstate” they’d say. He was the one who, if Queen could inspire adoration, he inspired disgust and fear in equal measure. He didn’t feel up the women, no. He didn’t stumble around drunk, demanding patrons fight him, no. He _prowled_, ever watchful, conversing with the men who few doubted were less than honorable citizens. When fights broke out, they never lasted longer than a minute. When angry patrons got in the face of the bartenders, they never finished their insults. He was brutal, and few dared challenge him.

When asked by those who became too curious—and too boozed up to remember decorum—her lips would quirk up in an amused, half-smile, her pearly white teeth would catch the light for the briefest moment, and then she’d tilt her head the slightest and walk away, never giving a proper answer.

Recently though, rumors had started that she was leaving. They were whispered, spoken in the softest of tones even the slightest breeze could steal away. No one wanted to ask it to her face, whether that was out of fear that she’d tell them yes, or that the boss would hear and descend on them before they managed to skip town. He was a brutal man, and a possessive one. Anyone with half a brain could read it in his eyes when he watched her. She was his ticket to continued wealth, and if she left, it was very easy to see where the bar would go.

There was nothing else giving the building an edge over many of the other bars, nightclubs, social clubs… nothing. The liquor could be found anywhere, the gamblers would be just as happy to find a milk crate to toss their scraps of wealth onto as the tables they currently used. And the socialites who entered through the front? Those were part of the play, part of the image. The seedier sorts knew they would only ever be able to enter through the side door, in the alley, where a large bouncer glowered at any who approached. If they couldn’t afford even false pearls, and white paper to act as spats, they couldn’t afford to enter through the front.

If there was no one bothering to enter through the side, the ones entering through the front wouldn’t support the establishment for longer than a year. Thus, if she was going to leave, they weren’t going to advertise it. Hell, few thought she’d even speak the idea out loud. Keeping it to herself until whoever she got to help her stole her away, off to a far more appropriate place. If she was going to leave, many thought she’d have done it already. Four years in that building. Four years of gracing them with her beauty and voice. If she wouldn’t abandon them in four years, they believed she wouldn’t abandon them for another four.

They were confident of that fact, but he was not.

It was late one night, the floor was quiet of all but the workers finishing their nightly chores. Once every week, the doors closed earlier than usual. On that night, he approached her. He came to her with none of the gruffness he usually carried like a cloak around himself. He came to her with a friendly smile. And she met it with a light, expressionless stare. Her brilliant green eyes caught the low lights dotting the second floor where he’d called her.

“You know they love you here.” He started, having already asked the usual pleasantries and received a disdainful twitch from her otherwise straight mouth. She tilted her head enough to make her hair slip over her shoulder, exposing her slender neck to the candles of a nearby table not yet snuffed out, and waited for him to continue. Something he readily did, he knew her, knew how she worked, knew how to cajole her to keep her perfect body in the room he had specially built for her so she never had to leave. He’d once claimed it was for her protection, as the bar’s thick doors and heavy locks guaranteed none would be able to steal her away. Even her room, built with her permission, with her watching the workers do their jobs every day, watching for any hidden spots any could peep at her through, had heavy defenses.

“And that performance, I’d call it your best yet, but I think we both know you always find ways to outshine even yourself. But, this poor fool who stands before you has heard things.” He paused, gauging her response based on the amusement or annoyance in her lofty gaze. Both knew if it came down to it, all she’d have to do is smile and she’d have all the power he claimed, all the lackeys he owned, falling over themselves to serve her. It was only the workers who ever joked that if anyone manhandled Queen, if the citizens didn’t get them, the men whose hands were well on their way to being stained with scarlet would do the job, with aplomb.

She tapped on the railing with a lone gloved nail, a blatant indication she was losing her patience. He knew then, if he asked, she’d treat him like all the rest who had asked. She’d give him a smile that outwardly looked amused, but internally declared impatience. She’d step around him, maybe close enough to let him feel the softness of the curves hidden under her gown she’d gotten for herself, just once, and then she’d vanish into her room, and he’d be forced to lay awake in his own bed, fearing for his property and future financial security.

“Of course, we know these horrible, deplorable things are hardly based in reality. We know you’re happy as could be here!” His mouth remained open, ready to continue his efforts to coax her to stay, only for her to hold a single finger up, and pull a deck of cards out from her dress. He knew the game then, knew the prize, and knew the stakes. He hastily moved to pull out a chair for her despite her displeased hum, and jerkily held out a hand for her to sit. When she dealt the cards out, cards she’d had since before he’d met her, he could still feel the warmth of her skin lingering on the ace of hearts. Though there was no real dealer, there didn’t need to be. He knew she’d see any sleight of hand he pulled, and he knew she cared little for tricks outside of shuffling and dealing. She glanced at her own hand, bright green slid up over to him, and she waited for him to make his move. The game of blackjack had begun.

He’d once believed showering her with gifts the way all those in the business did to their wives, mistresses, loved ones, and potential loved ones, would make her fall the way many of the others did. If he draped her in finery, she’d drape herself over him. If the diamond necklaces he got her could caress her warm skin, so could he. If a ring could bind around her finger, it could chain her to the club. He’d seen it happen. Seen how women who were less than interested in the darker side of the world would scoff away advances until wealth was presented to them, then they’d cave within weeks. And that’s what he’d tried the first year after finding her, and stealing her away from her first boss. Her first handler, he now believed. But she’d simply scoffed at the diamonds, informed him that she’d sooner wear a string of seaweed, and he’d been left red faced in his office, unable to get a single word out. He’d taken her to a tailor, and she’d greeted them like they were old friends, then the tailor had vanished into the back room. She’d gotten a new gown, but it hadn’t been by his hand.

Every possible thing that could bind her to him, she rejected or maneuvered around so perfectly, he felt only that he needed to do better the next time. Most of him was certain it wasn’t love that drove him. Though he was sure he would be the envy of his colleagues if he arrived to a meeting with her on his arm. And it wasn’t really lust either. She was gorgeous, and anyone who rejected the chance to even touch her was a fool in his eye. But he wasn’t driven by that, not even close to his true desire. It was money. If she left, he’d have to scramble to find something. He wasn’t big enough yet, wasn’t trusted enough yet, not in the right location. Without her, he’d be at the mercy of the sharks, and recently, he’d started to wonder if she knew that.

He pulled another card, careful to keep his face straight at the five to add to his nine and ace. She watched him, and despite his best efforts, the sweat beading on his brow dripped down. They showed their cards, and he had one try left to keep her. She reshuffled, cards appearing to him like butterflies between her gloved hands, fluttering faster than his eyes could follow. A new hand, and new confidence. Confidence that died at the marble smooth apathy sliding out from every inch of her body. And he could only continue wondering, a weak effort to hold the building despair as she pulled a card and continued staring at him apathetically.

Wonder if she was cold enough to leave him and the place she’d found such fame. Or rather, built up even more admirers. He feared he already knew the answer in the way she didn’t humor him as she usually did. How she flicked her attention to one of the remaining workers, as they listened to the last worker down below leave, a sign she wasn’t interested anymore. She wasn’t going to leave that very night, but the departure was no longer a fever dream, it was eminent. Eminent as the cards favoring their Queen’s escape. She’d never rigged them, and her gloves prevented her from feeling the tell-tale quirks of her cards, even so, he couldn’t help but feel cheated. Cheated and ruined as the queen of spades and ace of diamonds fell on the table before her slender fingers in clear, mocking view.

She gathered her cards back up, they seemed to slide eagerly to her hand, happy to be tucked back in her dress, close to her heart. And his time was up. He stood, unsure of why he did, but sure of how the rest of the night would go. There was perhaps, one thing he feared more than her leaving. One simple thing, that had driven him to this point. When she tried to step around him, he moved. He wasn’t surprised to know that, even with her side spilling blood, she looked like a dream. She hadn’t screamed, far too stunned. She’d shoved him away, surprising strength sending him toppling over a chair yet to be put up for the night. The handle of the blade stuck out of her stomach, in a place the seasoned would know wasn’t enough to kill. Stab wounds were tricky that way. If not put in the exact right spot, they’d be little more than grievances thanks to the medicine of today. She looked to the other in the room.

But not everyone had been entranced by her siren song. The guard didn’t move, but he did look away, following his role perfectly. As the boss fought to get back to his feet, she pressed a hand over the handle, bit back a budding shriek of pain, and stumbled to put a table between them. At first, when she ran into something hard, she thought it was one of the draped pillars. And then her chin was being wrenched up and a blade was ripping into her throat. What it was that gave her the strength to tear the knife from her side and bury it in the groin of the man behind her, she would always attribute to spite. Even as blood poured from her gasping throat, she found enough in her to drive it in again, enough to get him to let go, falling into a screaming heap. She turned, the mental map of the building telling her one solid kick and he’d fall down the stairs, but dizziness struck her.

Her mouth opened, a scream failing to escape, a breath doing much the same, and she staggered. The boss and the guard now running to help the other, watched her hit the bannister, watched her slip. The one she’d wounded, driven by anger and pain, shot out, wrapping a heavy arm around her leg and heaving up, sending her up on top of the bannister. And she knew as well as everyone else, as her hips, then her thighs, slid over the smooth wood, that there was nothing else she could do. The boss watched, a deep shudder of self-hatred and fear rolling down his spine, as her green eyes, acidic with loathing he’d never seen aimed at him with such intensity, shrieked all the words of hatred her ruined throat couldn’t, and then she was over the bannister.

He’d shoved many a person off a tall ledge. He knew exactly what it sounded like for a body to collide with the ground below. The second floor was easily thirty feet, thirty feet that she fell. A table didn’t so much as break her fall as expedite the snapping of her neck before it caved under the force and weight.

He left the second floor in a hurry, slipping in the pool of blood the man stabbed spilled out of what he knew to be an artery. He was already slumping against the bannister, fading fast, but not before the others who had waited got him out of the building, hoping to get their friend to a hospital in time. The boss didn’t care, he had one thing in mind.

Green eyes, poisonous even in death, sharp despite the blood sliding across one open eye, down from the shredded neck, watched him. Not accusing, not afraid, but _wrathful._ He’d mourn her, he truly would, but _he couldn’t let her leave._ The stage where she shined most, where she’d earned him the clout, that’s where in the bottom level he’d put her. And that’s what he did.

****

A woman, at least those who cared to examine guessed, scratched her thick mane of curly black hair lazily. A far cry from the short haired women of the decade around her, her thick hair shrouded most of her from prying eyes. In the dying sun, her hands were a pale, noble white. In the shade, her flesh was a cool grey, unnatural, but not bereft of life. Her eyes, under the heavy curls of her bangs, caught the sunlight like orange stained glass. Her outfit consisted of a suit, and yet none who would normally find the image of a woman wearing such a thing improper cared.

She’d been on a bit of a bored exploration. A trip to explore this corner of the world, and ease the daily grind down in the balmy depths of her home. Rumors of a club—a speakeasy to those who knew of the side entrance, and how to keep their mouths shut—rife with oddities that occurred while games were on, had caught her interest. She’d been told by the drunk an interesting story. How he’d gone in there, with his last few bills, desperate that the one the inner gambling circles claimed to be lady luck would grant him some reprieve. He came into the game not asking for much, just enough to keep him off the street, enough to get him to his next job opportunity.

He’d gone on to say that within moments of the game starting he’d known the dealer wasn’t playing with fair dice. He knew that as sure as an alcoholic knew what swill burned their tongue even blindfolded. But he’d already placed his bet, already started, and he knew in that club, getting up to leave would only gain him ire. So he’d watched hopelessly as the dice rolled; rolled right into his favor. The man said he was only drunk now, because he was celebrating, then he whispered for her to not tell the cops, then he fell from her spell and staggered off, back straight but legs akimbo. She’d been amused enough that the officer who had been approaching him suddenly found greater interest in a back alley where a rat knocked over some cans.

It wasn’t much. She was fairly certain the man was blowing as much smoke as he was sucking in moonshine, but it was something. And _oh,_ if she didn’t have a _weakness _for games. And the other stories only intrigued her more. Some warned against going in, saying the owner was a basket-case with one leg in a cement boot, the other still in the boat. Some said their winning hand somehow wasn’t high enough, how they’d been so sure with their straight flush only for someone else to gleefully show off their royal flush. Others claimed they felt cold brushes along their necks when the dice were rolled, and upon feeling it, the dice always fell into their favor. And while that would have been enough to attract her, the other stories furthered her desire to approach.

How the bar—pouring everything non-alcoholic it could—still had issues with the old, empty bottles still on display filling with absinthe. How the bottles that made up a beasts eyes followed the shadier types, hatred as on display in the glassy gaze as the bottles themselves were. How performers struggled on the stage. Singers, the one telling the woman the story described as less than pleasing to the ear suddenly choking mid note. Magicians trick failing in often painful ways. Musicians who played poorly found their instrument scattered through the building after the performance, often never finding the last piece they needed to ever play it again. The grand piano playing by itself every so often, all oddities she found interesting.

It was far from lustrous, her sharp eyes picking up the fine cracks in the façade, the broken portions of the neon sign straining to shine enough to keep the interest of passerby’s. A few decently dressed people entered through the front, but she was more interested in the side entrance, her nose picking up the distinct scent of booze wafting from there more than the front. Two workers were cursing up a quiet storm as they dumped bottles full of the green fairy out onto the streets, nervously peering down both ends of the alley. She could read it in their tense shoulders, a sweep was coming through and they couldn’t afford another hit to their bank to pay off any officers who cared to inspect the bottle display.

Uncaring of their inevitable fate as an officer in blue turned the same corner she had, she entered the building, leaving the stuttering workers and angry cop. Inside, she scrunched her nose, disliking the heavy scent of sweat baked into the floor, hardly masked by the shoddy cleaners used to keep the yellowed tiles somewhat white. The walls were peeling, hidden only by the light not bothering to approach enough to make the gritty patrons care. She hummed, looking up through her thick bangs at the dusty chandeliers fighting to cast even a steady glow. Then she looked to the stage, the only thing that seemed to be in a near perfect state. The wood still gleamed, the lights still glimmered above, at least the few that were on enough to light up the grand piano perched royally in the middle, just behind center stage.

The carpet looked like it had been replaced, seeing as how she could see a different carpet poorly hidden under the booths, but it had been ten years since then and it too would need more than a tender loving hand. The upper floor was devoid of the same life as the ground floor, with hardly a soul strolling around or eating what the kitchen managed to spit out. The tables in the front were full of the desperate looking for a gambling house they didn’t have to trek a full city over just to get their fix. None looked all that happy to be there. The woman’s fiery eyes examined everything, not hindered the way mortal eyes were by the shaded corners. The woman stole a morsel from a plate whose owner was far too entranced in her partners eyes to notice or care, and sat herself at a craps table. 

She didn’t care to truly play, not now. She wanted to case the place out first, which meant testing waters, seeing what dealers cared to pretend they were playing fair. This one was, the dice played evenly, and she didn’t lose too much. Sliding out of the wooden seat, confident the cushion on it might have been nice at some point, she moved on to a poker table, merging with the other players. Cards dropped before her. The dealer paused, brows furrowing for a moment as he counted heads, then shook his head and pressed on. This one hardly tried, and her addition to the game mucked up the win for a man who glared viciously at the dealer for it. Her tongue ran along the back of her teeth, playing with the tip of a sharp fang briefly before she moved away, her aim on the bar.

She would return to the tables later, but now, she wanted to examine every nook and cranny. If the rumors turned out to be nothing, she couldn’t find it in herself to mind. It was positively delightful to listen to the many tall tales and stories people invented. Her favorites were always the talks of demonic things. If only because, being one to please, she left the empty hotels and bars with truly demonic guests for a little. Give them a true taste of the thing they proudly whispered to guests to drum up business.

She ignored the people behind the bar, looking at the bottles instead, right into the bright green eyes of the beast. If she focused she could see some of the upper ones still filled with what she was sure would be gut rot if she popped them open. Moving, she watched them watch her, fascinated how the light catching the bottles danced perfectly. The beast examined her, a fierce furrow in the brown and white glass making its brow. No one bothered her, the few who bumped into her were far too drunk to even mutter an apology, not that she’d care. The food she could see appeared decent, perhaps a bit dubious in cleanliness, but she didn’t have much room to judge.

Commotion by one of the tables regained her focus, her hair shifted out of her way so she could play observer to a man angrily shout at a dealer who must have been new based on how he shrunk back from the bear of a man. The door above her opened, a pointed ear twitched, listening to the footsteps tread across plush carpet, towards the stairs, and finally she caught sight of the boss. Her lips twitched, a grin fighting to escape. The boss, flanked by two heavyset men in suits stormed down, face beet red with fury. Evidently this one believed blatant fury was best suited for incidents.

An idea she could already see failing as the man reared back on his filthy shoe to spew spit and vitrol at the boss, uncaring of the men on either side itching for him to give them a reason to test their body throwing abilities. He screamed at how the dealer was swindling him out of wins, stealing his money blatantly, and the money of everyone else. He shrieked how he had seen the dealer’s tricks with his own eyes.

“It isn’t—”

“Then why don’t you put your money where your mouth is huh?” The furious man interrupted the boss, violently waving at the empty seat, nearly crushing his meaty fist into another patrons’ face. The boss’s lips turned sheet white, while the rest of his face stayed a burning red. Slowly, carefully, aware he’d take a heavy hit if he didn’t prove his workers weren’t stacking the deck, he sat down, and behind the dealer emerged a woman.

Snow-white hair blocked the woman’s view of her face as cards flipped across the table. Her posture was tall, her shoulders relaxed, her fine gown sticking out not only from its outdatedness, but its finery. Violet silk in a sea of dingy half suits and scruffy day-dresses. Her hip rolled to take her weight; her face lifted to lock vivid green eyes on the boss. She tapped a dainty finger to her full bottom lip, and when the hands were shown, the boss had the winning hand. He broke out into sweat, waving another dealer over. Her wine-red lips broke into a vile smile, and once again, he won. Whispers broke out, and if not for her hearing, she would never have heard the man begin whispering pleas for mercy.

The woman across the table quirked a brow, feigning a piteous pout, she rested her hands over her chest as he called yet another dealer over. As people began to get up, hope that though the place was rigged, there was at least a chance for victory dying, acidic green eyes swept the room, debating. The curly haired woman sat at the table as well.

“Maybe ya just need another player, make the cards work to be nice, eh?” Her voice was rough, a low alto purr that worked in tandem with soft, hushed coos for cooperation. Not for their benefit, but her amusement. Bright green turned on her, and she looked back, one slow blink against a single quirked white brow. The boss nodded, the talk of absconding faded, and interest swept over the table with the cards. A spark of magic later, the dark-haired woman was looking at four of a kind. She didn’t want to go too far of course; it wasn’t as fun when she did that. But she knew what that woman was doing, and her little impish heart couldn’t _bear_ to let her have all the fun.

The woman, in response, blew a kiss, and the man’s straight flush swept the table. The man banged his fist on the table, proclaiming how he’d been right all along. But then someone else cried out.

“Course thems the works! Queen Dice ain’t ever gonna let him lose!”

A perfectly trimmed white brow spiked up, thick white lashes lowered, until only flashes of amused emerald peeked from under the curtain.

“Quit using ghost stories to excuse him!” The man snapped, cracking his heavy fist on the table, making it groan. The woman froze, a wash of frigid air spiking out around in her in a wave of warning. The dealer shakily dealt one last hand at the wave of the dark-haired woman. Fiery red met slivered green, wine lips pursed, and the angry patron was the winner. He flopped into his seat, confused and angry. This time, she blew a kiss to the other woman, and the other watched her slide into the crowd as confusion descended on the crowd.

The woman rolled her shoulders, sharp teeth peeking out behind pale lips. It was time to do some digging.

****

“It was years ago.” A woman sitting by her husband spoke softly, glancing around the park for anyone potentially eavesdropping. Her husband nodded.

“He said she flew the coop, but types like him? Nobody runs from that type. But the bulls don’t care to get in there and bust that beast for his crime!” His voice rose, but never above a harsh mutter. The same way all the rest had spoken the woman. She nodded, waving for them to continue, hoping they’d add something new.

“She was the finest dame outside of my wife, a real treasure, but she vanished fifteen years ago. No one really noticed something was off until her admirers couldn’t find a trace of her anywhere in the world. Looked high and low they did.” The man rubbed his wife’s hand as he spoke, his own fingers lovingly brushing against the simple gold band around her ring finger.

“We hoped she’d gone low in Europe, they all seem to fly over there, but no one could find a trace of her, and nowhere advertised a new singer. Oh, if you could have heard her sing you’d understand how that was a sure sign something foul had happened!” The woman continued for her husband, squeezing his fingers in her own. “She could call angels down from the heavens she could! And that foul lummox surely stole her away. I don’t know if he killed her or chained her up in her room in that dumpster of a club. But she’s been out of the public eye for so long…” She drifted off, looking down.

“None of us like talking about it too much. There’s a rumor that if you say her name, horrible luck will befall you. They say she’s haunting the club, still messing with the games and trying to give a performance. Why, if you come back tomorrow night, you’ll hear that piano go off.”

The woman nodded, thanking them for their answers. As she left, she left them a small gift. It wasn’t as easy anymore, but she’d had centuries to relearn what she could do. She wasn’t interested in coming back in the daytime hours.

****

The boss sat heavily in his chair, fingers clutched together so tightly they were white. The clock in his office ticked steadily, uncaring of his anxiety. The numbers were dropping again. He was still in debt, he couldn’t afford to fall any further. His only hope was that they’d rise once more. They’d gone up briefly while that pianist had been in town, but the new club a few blocks down was picking him up by his wallet and shaking every penny out of him. He’d known they thought him to be incompetent, but he hadn’t believed it was bad enough for them to get a new guy in town to set up shop.

He wasn’t sure if she’d let it fall to ruin, or if she was doing this to kill him faster from the stress. Whiskey wasn’t covering it anymore, but he was beyond terrified to even contemplate drinking the absinthe. Not when he knew she’d put the green fairy in his club. She could have done anything with the other, maybe even coaxed the other woman to bless him with a vile death once a single drop of her sugared liquor hit his tongue. She was vitriolic like that, vindictive like that.

“Interesting place you got here.”

He jumped, knees banging onto the bottom of his oak desk, nails not bitten off scraping on his skin harshly. A wild shriek bubbled up in his throat, held at bay only by sheer force of will. A woman sat across from him, watching him with bright, unnatural orange eyes. Her thick, curly hair obscured the chair she had commandeered, spilling down to the floor in heavy spirals. Her dusky grey skin caught the light of the lamp beside him, the one that toppled off the desk, shattering and leaving them in nothing but the light of the lone lamp on the wall by the bookshelf.

“Who are you!” He snarled, shooting to his feet, coming to his full height to tower over her. The only thing that moved was her eyes, wide and amused. He cursed, something about the woman making his feet stay planted, keeping him behind his desk, a paltry defense. The gun in his hand didn’t even get a sliver of attention.

“Call me whatever you want, I’m just here with an offer. But this aint the place to do that sorta thing, walk with me.” She stood, and he found his hazy legs carrying him behind her, following her to his office door, and out into a seat that overlooked the stage. Unabashedly he stared at her, soaking in how her eyes were a harsh yellow now as she plopped down onto the seat across from him with a deceptive ease.

“Got a bit of a problem here?” She started, long nails tapping the wood, chipping the shiny varnish from the armrest.

“Who are you.” He repeated, confused, scared, and angry. Her nails scratched into the wood, leaving deep gouges in the pine.

“Some call me ol’ scratch,” She rumbled, her voice the purr he’d expect to hear from a large cat amused at the feeble scrabbles for freedom by prey caught in its claws. “Lord of Hell, King of sin…”

“Devil.” His voice was harsh, straining out of a tight throat, thick with fear. The candle burst into an unnatural flame, casting an unholy glow on their faces. A lone light on the stage, pointed at the piano, flickered. Just for a moment, the shadows on her face split her mouth into a ghastly grin spanning up to her sharp ears.

“I’m in the market for entertainment, and you look like a _fine_ volunteer. So tell me,” She leaned forward, and he fiercely wondered where his guards were. “What troubles you? Let this former angel absolve you of your earthly woes.”

He opened his mouth, closing it to audibly gulp, brain piecing together that what he was seeing wasn’t an illusion. A step far below creaked, and sweat beaded on his brow. He feared the thing before him, but the one down below, already taking another step up the stairs, sent his mind spiraling into irrevocable terror.

“She haunts me. She won’t leave, won’t let me leave. I know I should have just chained her, gotten one of the others to take her, hide her away. But I couldn’t! She couldn’t leave, she’d have made some other fool money and dumped him the minute he bored her. But she hates me for it. She hates me so much and every time I try to set up shop elsewhere it goes up in flames or floods or whatever else she feels like throwing at me! I didn’t know she would stay this long, I thought I could end it, and she’d just die but she didn’t.” He practically vomited out the words, spewing them into the air much to the sadistic amusement of the _thing_ taking the form of a woman across from him.

Behind him, the white-haired woman stood, fists tight, body still, eyes wide and cold and so full of hatred it took Devil’s breath away. One shake in her chest, as if she was reflexively sucking in air but coming up short, and she was watching him, waiting as Devil was for him to either continue or faint. He must have felt the cold burst of air because he shivered, nervously scratching at the back of his neck.

“It’s been so long, I didn’t know the bitch would stay mad this long. I didn’t even know she’d stick around to put me in an early grave but I’ve got nothing left. She crushed my pride ten years ago. I just want to move on from all of this.”

The dead look of disdain was so impressive in its strength Devil fought the urge to cackle.

“And what would you have me do? With me here, there are several options available to you.” She tilted her head, and he finally caught sight of the unnatural ears.

“I… I don’t…”

“Tell you what, you know how this works, right?” She nodded for him, and the woman leveled a look on her, interest piqued. “Wonderful, you tell me what you want, we play a game of your choice, and if you win, great!”

“And if I lose you get my soul.” He finished, heavily suspicious of her, not that she blamed him. She did, however, throw her head back and let loose a dark, wild snort of laughter.

“Buddy, I don’t have to bet souls to get ‘em.” The shadows darkened, green eyes flashed, and the chandeliers burned brighter, chasing away the encroaching intruders. Devils pearly white fangs peeked out from under her lips in intrigue. “No, I’ll think of something I want, but hows about this, you’re tense, and that’s understandable, really! So lets go one round to start, no deal or bet on the table, just a simple game.”

Perhaps it was being in what he perceived to be his home turf that made him nod, perhaps it was the white-haired woman lean away, reducing the cool loathing from his weighted back. But he did.

“One round for nothin, then, two outta three?” The white-haired woman looked her way, a challenge in her gaze. Devil nodded, answering the challenge easily. He stood to find a deck of cards, but his hands brushed across a deck already on the table. Confused, he looked down, and promptly pitched over, nearly breaking his skull over the table across from them. The deck sat innocently on the table, even Devil hadn’t seen it placed there, and she reached over, ignoring his stuttered warning.

The deck was warm, but as she flipped through, as he fought to get to his feet, she found one card missing, one that was pulled from what must have been soft skin in life, and presented to her. Devil reached for the queen of diamonds, huffing a breath of merriment when the fingers were pulled away before her own could touch them. She was already shuffling them when he finally found his voice. Only to lose it when a tail snapped against his chin, tapping it in a rhythmic warning to shut up and play.

The first victory went to him, much to his surprise and her joy. As the cards were shuffled, she looked around for something she could want. Ultimately, they fell on that piano, and she pointed to it. He looked weaker now, clearly that piano was sentimental to him. Why, she didn’t know, nor did she care, but she wanted it. And the first hand went her way as the woman looked on impassively.

“What’s her name?” Devil asked, shuffling the cards with practiced ease.

“Queen. I never learned her real name, no one did. Some called her Queen Dice, but that was only at the gambling tables. Can you see the dead? Do you know if she’s here? Or have you sent a demon to torment me for the sin I committed against her?” He looked around, right through the infuriated woman. Devil watched her mouth ‘demon?’ with all the fury of a sun, but she didn’t speak. Something that struck Devil as odd, especially if she prided herself on her voice when alive, she should have been spewing rants at the man by now, but she wasn’t, she didn’t even try to make a noise beyond moving her lips.

“You didn’t say what you wanted yet, just telling me your grievance isn’t enough.” She replied in turn.

“I don’t… I…”

“You got a debt you gotta pay off? I can get you all the wealth you need to pay it off and more.” It was far too easy to offer, far easier for him to leap at that chance like a starved hound on a hunk of meat.

Devil may not care about actually getting the piano, but a part of her just couldn’t help but feast on the misery of men like him. She put a bit of effort into the cards, only to find Queen standing right next to her when she blinked, a cruel, dark grin on her lips. A lone finger went up, and wagged at her, as if she was a misbehaving child. Mixed with the expression though, if Devil had been a lesser woman, she’d have been intimidated, she was sure the man would have made a mess of himself had he seen it. The cards remained unaffected by Devils effort, allowing hm to win by three.

No cheating. That’s what she was saying without speaking. Her cards wouldn’t allow it. One last shuffle, one last deal. And perhaps it was due to Devils attempt to rig the game, but Queen, who’d moved to be closer to him, leaned over the table, letting her hair slip like water over her shoulders, and as she moved, her neck split. Bright red blood poured from the wound, a harsh gurgle cut from her throat, letting a spray of blood hit the cards, and the piano remained in his possession. He didn’t move, staring at the ten and ace compared to her four, six, and nine. Devil leaned back, the ire boiling in her chest as Queen blew her a vindictive kiss and vanished, the cards disappearing with her.

He screamed, fearing suddenly that she’d done it to doom him. To make him anger the Devil and get dragged to Hell. She stood smoothly, hauling him up off of his ass and nudged him towards the stairs.

“You’ll find your prize in the safe you’ve got in your home, congratulations.” She sing-songed ‘congratulations’ as he babbled out a thanks and vanished from the club, leaving Devil alone in the building as the lights went out all at once. She stood in the void, head tilted, chin down, ear pricked up to follow soft footsteps gliding along the lower floors. The shadows devoured her, and she reappeared where she knew the other would be.

To be greeted by empty space, until the chandelier made a soft jingling noise, and the woman, perched perfectly on the crystal, threw a disdainful frown her way. Devil fought the tugging at the corners of her lips. Based on the eye roll from the one above, she lost the battle.

“Aren’t you just a treat.” She spoke, debating if testing her own weight against the chandelier would be wise. The woman ignored her, reclining like a noble on her throne of intricate glass. Devil began to wander, taking great advantage of the lack of people to hinder her nosey habit. “Real snazzy stunt you pulled there, you aren’t mad, are you?”

The woman, Queen, closed her eyes, drifting lower to curl into the cage of wire and glass. Devil knew she was listening though, her head would tilt wherever Devil went, tracking her without giving her an ounce more of her focus. To a degree, Devil found it amusing, she’d found plenty who thought it wise to toy with her, pretend she was one of the imps rather than the Ruler of Hell. The rest, the part that made her ruler and kept her on top, rankled at the disrespect. Especially following the theft of her victory.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?”

Queen seemingly blinked out of existence above, only to return to the stage. A lone light blinked on, shining brilliantly on her snowy hair, illuminating her icy flesh. Then a second, and the shadows behind her gave the appearance of dark, inky wings spread wide behind her frail shoulders. Green clashed with red as a halo of golden dust glistened around her head, crumbling away with the lights, sending the stage into a void of darkness Devil’s eyes struggled to cut through after having been exposed to the bright light before. The lower lights at the base of the stage light up, red despite her being sure none would have that sort of glass over them.

Oh but how lovely the green looked, how her red gown looked like fire, glittering like sparks of deep flame, and how the shadows flickered over her, the backdrop giving the appearance of horns behind her. The stage went empty, the lights turned off, and the spirit strolled around the bar, examining the empty bottles thoughtfully.

“It doesn’t usually end well when people meddle with my affairs.” Devil sat herself at the bar, hoping to startle Queen. Instead, she watched Queen pull a bottle from the center, one of the ones that made up the beasts eyes. And now that Devil cared to pay attention to it, it shouldn’t have been able to watch her the way it did. She wasn’t in the right spot, but it was, fiercely daring her to approach Queen, tempt her own fate. A glass of liquor slid across the sleek bar top, stopping by her crossed arms. She lifted it up, appraising the absinthe.

Over the glass, Queen leaned against the table, watching her with an unreadable gaze, but the beast? The beast was looking towards the door, and it became clear. She would be treated to a drink, just one, and then it was expected that she’d leave. It tickled her to face yet another one who believed they could order her.

She put the glass back down, running the tip of her nail around the rim of the glass thoughtfully. “I’d have thought you’d be jumping for joy at my arrival.” She peered up at Queen through the fringe of her bangs. “What with all the things I could do to your murderer. Do for you, I know you have desires, no mortal, or even demon for that matter, doesn’t have wishes they’d kill for.” She swirled the liquid inside slowly. “I can get _real_ creative when it comes to pushin’ someone off the mortal coil.”

Queen dipped lower, letting her elbows support her weight on the table, eyes looking only at her, enraptured at the blooming realization death didn’t omit her chances of making deals. Oh, how easy it was. “Or no, maybe you just want to escape? Binding yourself to this place is impressive, but don’t you want to see where you’d end up once you leave. You already got the hair, and what was that I heard about you having a voice that could call down angels? Looks like they weren’t kidding.” She too, leaned closer. “So what can this fallen angel do for you?”

Queen sat up, pensive, pearly teeth worrying her bottom lip gently. She left the bar, slowly maneuvering around the tables and chairs, frequently looking back at Devil. Devil, feeling generous, downed the drink. She’d humor the dead woman at least. Free from the offering, she followed behind the spirit, not remotely surprised to see her finally end her journey at the side entrance. She looked at the stage, then at Devil, towards the chandeliers, back at Devil, and finally at the door. She reached a hand, shaking, thin fingers hardly brushing the air above the door knob before snapping back and away.

Devil slid up behind her, then around, letting her own body heat twist around the perpetual cold clinging to Queen. Her clawed hand gripped the brass, twisting it sharply. Pretending that opening the door was like ripping a bandage off, she threw the door open and stepped into the doorway, beckoning. Queen’s hands clutched one another by her chest, brave faces often fell in the face of a true desire so close to them. Slowly, green eyes lightening with new hope, she reached not for the exit, but for Devil. Mortals, dead or no, often found it in their heads to thank her, and though Devil wasn’t keen on it most of the time, it was amusing to see the brazen woman fall to a timid shell at the mere chance for freedom.

Then again, she supposed she’d be aching to be free if her home was as ragged and decrepit as this. A building she could tell would fall to ruin and be demolished to make way for the next seedy business. She let the tip of Queens fingers touch her shoulder, looking at the moonlight slipping across Devil’s back. And slowly, she leaned closer, looking deeper into Devil’s eyes, as if looking to see if she was being fooled.

Devil let her, let her eyes eventually fall away to look around at the alley, because her own were focused on the beast.

On the white bottles forming a sneering, mocking _grin._

The soft touch turned harsh, and she toppled backwards, barely able to keep upright enough to not fall ass over end out into the cold, filthy alley. Silhouetted by the brilliant moonlight, glowing a stunning white-blue, Queen gave her an equally mocking grin, and the door slammed shut. A very clear “get out” if Devil had ever seen one. She stood, eyes bugged, mouth ajar. Fury warred fiercely with blinding amusement, flickers of hellfire sparking up a storm around her until one of the bricks above cracked and fell, forcing her to stagger away if she didn’t want to be pulling dust out of her already messy hair.

****

The day after the next, under the refreshing heat of the afternoon sun, Devil returned. Women who walked by her on the street fanned themselves after passing her, complaining about the heat to their partners despite the heat being tolerable just moments before. All she’d thought about while waiting was the humiliation. Being outdone in what she’d been given the reigning title of champion of. Manipulated, toyed with, _tricked_ by some dead mortal likely rotting away just as surely as the building was.

Sure, her rational mind waved her arrogance in her face, happily showing her what exactly had gone wrong. She had been too ahead of herself, too aggressive. Another part of her shot back that thus far, only a handful had gone about tricking her in that way. Most of the time, when they wanted her away, they chased her with whatever was at hand. Her favorite in that category still stood at the man believing waving a cross in a former angel’s face was a good idea. Though, the man thinking sticking red-hot iron into her was the perfect way to scare her off was a close second. She had to dig to find the last time someone out-maneuvered her in mental games.

The angrier part of her was stronger, strong enough that she was returning not only to humor herself, but satisfy her ire, and see to it the Queen lost her crown.

The moment she entered, the smell of sweat, ancient booze stains, weak cleaners, and all the emotions that came from the tables, the bar, and from the room above burned her nostrils. She didn’t see the woman, but she’d find her. Brilliant orange eyes tracked around the room, scouring as much as her mind was for a plan. Something made more difficult when one of the workers shakily approached her.

“T-the boss would l-like t—” he choked on his nerves, wringing his gloved hands, finding no comfort in the crowds around him. “to see you. Upstairs.” He beat a hasty retreat, not even bothering to ensure she actually went. But he needn’t have bothered, she stalked up the stairs, shooting a fiery grin at the entertained glint in the beasts green eyes.

The man just about grabbed her the moment she walked through the door, reeling back at the vile, virulent glare she leveled him with. He hastily switched from reaching to touch her to yanking on his collar and blindly adjusting his cuff-links.

“I uh—” He paused, struggling to work out how to speak to the Devil. Impatient as she was, well aware she wasn’t on her own turf, she let the mortal stammer on. He was free of debt, but they were suspicious, so he had to give a repeat performance, show he hadn’t just murdered some rich fool. He could keep his club, but the problem was that with _her_ scaring away potential customers, he feared his business would only continue to stagnate. He believed she was the reason for his failing monetary ventures. “If anyone can cast her down to hell where she belongs, it’s gotta be you!” He waved his hands wildly at her, and for one moment, she wondered why she was even here, talking to him.

“I don’t do favors.” She intoned, a note of warning in her voice. Not too much though, a plan had already formed, she couldn’t have him screaming for the priest yet. He nodded so sharply she heard his neck crack. He cringed, one shoulder hiking up to his ear, the other rolling forward in pain.

“A-another game perhaps?” He offered. She watched him, shoulders loose, back straight, thick curls shadowing her features. “But not now, I don’t want…” He gestured at the door. The insinuation that he wanted no visitors ruining the game clear. And sure, she could have kicked her magic in, played with his perception of time so she could be done with it. Maybe doing that would show the one hidden from her sight just what she’d messed with. But she didn’t. Instead, she smiled, uncaring that her inhumanly sharp teeth unnerved him more than anything.

“Of course. I’ve got ways of keeping myself entertained until then.” She didn’t even have to elaborate. He didn’t question it, likely believing her to be speaking of gruesome, lethal entertainment. Or perhaps he thought she was being enigmatic. Or he just wanted her out of the room so he could think properly on what he wanted to play for, how he’d word it, and what they would play.

She found a scrap of interest in his reason, just in time to see it wave her off as it sailed into a horizon of apathy. The first thing she did was look around the second floor. One man stood by the office door; one she didn’t bother with. She went for the first door she laid eyes on. It was tucked back, half hidden by one of the curtains used to decorate the upper floor walls.

A bedroom. Draped in dust as surely as the curtains draped over windows thick enough to obscure the true color of the furniture. Her feet scuffed across the plush white carpet, stirring up clouds, leaving a trail. But she could see she wasn’t the only one who had entered recently. Shoeprints matching the sort the man wore trekked into the room, strode up to the grand, canopied bed, then to the closet full of shredded and scattered gowns, then at the vanity, specifically in front of the mirror, behind the chair. He’d been in here, thrown a tantrum by the looks of the ruined outfits, but his fear of touching anything else chased him out.

A poster hung on one of the walls. More had been up before, but age and maltreatment by the man outside had ruined all but the one. Faded green eyes surrounded by coal black lashes, above a teasing, sure smile. Thick black hair that appeared grey from the dust fell in perfect waves around her smooth face. She looked at Devil, coyly urging her to approach, to find the real thing, watch her show off her advertised talent for singing and wow Devil. She had no doubt that Queen had been proud of her voice, and had she not been irate that the woman had stolen an easy victory from her—no matter how much she didn’t actually care to have the piano—and if she wasn’t wiser after yesterday’s mistake, she’d have been tempted to truly go all in with offering to give Queen back her voice.

But her plans didn’t dictate that, and she knew well and good Queen was fully aware of the sort of tactics Devil could and would use. She couldn’t rely on what would essentially be like sweet talking sugar. She didn’t care to leave things undisturbed, running her hand over the down comforter, heedless of the dust she was stirring, she simply stopped breathing momentarily until it settled lower. Then she turned to the gown by her feet.

Looking closely, none of the gowns were that violet number the spirit wore. She did spot the red gown though, and plucked it off the nightstand, clicking her tongue at the massive tear shredding the bust in half. That man had _quite_ the temper. Dropping it to the floor she moved on, hunting for more clues on just who she was entering a game with. The canopy, a sheer golden fabric turned dusky yellow with time, lay in tatters over the bed and floor. Shards of glass from pictures couldn’t even glint through the thick wall of dust. The pictures yielded nothing, only showing odd photos of random places.

There was one photo, torn into pieces. Devil only managed to find a small piece showing enough to let her know it was Queen, and nothing else. In addition to the gowns, she found undergarments, and hair accessories. Jewelry lay forlorn around the vanity, emeralds scattered like stars over the deep cherry wood. Frankly, she wouldn’t have been surprised if he too had scoured the room for any means of chasing Queen away.

She finally looked at the mirror, standing in the exact spot he had in a light attempt to see what he might have been looking at all those years ago after realizing the woman he’d murdered wasn’t keen on taking a quick trip to the golden gates. She found reflected in the mirror a perfectly preserved room. It was as if the mirror was showing not what was, but what _was. _All it was missing was its owner. Devil idly hoped she’d try the mirror trick, showing up in the reflection, but not truly there, but no one but her appeared there. Even when she opened an eye on the back of her head, the room was devoid of life.

Dipping into the shadows, she reappeared behind the stage curtain, looking around the unwashed area. Far darker than in the main building, if not for her eyes, she’d have only been able to see the tiny hallway with two doors. With them however, she could see just about everything. Her nose twitched, fighting the irritating clouds of dust that sprang up at her as if the very air was displeased with her presence. It was stuffed half full with extra chairs, clear patches for bands to gather together before and after performances, and little else. A storage area in everything but name.

The first door on the right led to a cramped powder room perfect for the non-instrument inclined to doll themselves up and prepare to attempt to wow a crowd that was likely to be too drunk on their betting addiction or entranced with the wood grain while listening to their date horridly drone on about work at the sweat-shop. She didn’t much care for the space, it told her nothing beyond the fact that someone with impressively pink lipstick had once dropped their makeup on the stand and hadn’t bothered to do more than swipe a hand across, leaving a bright smear across the dry varnish.

The back door led to a restroom, and unholy mistress of sin or no, the sight of that festering toilet was enough to send her reeling back and away, fervently swearing she was going to burn her flesh off and grow new skin just to be sure she was clear of any contamination the moldy walls had spat her way. She contemplated cutting her hair off as well, then thought that no, fighting to get pointy objects near enough without having them be devoured by the curls was far too much of a hassle.

She beat a hasty retreat back down the pathetically short hallway and re-entered the main backstage area, searching for anything of interest. It bothered her that she could smell the faintest scent of rot, but couldn’t find the source. She’d smelled it just barely over the booze, and had chosen to believe it was the building itself, or perhaps the idiot upstairs had stashed his murder victims’ body in her room. She had no idea where else the body could be. None of the walls had been torn up, no secret entrances lay hidden in the wood paneling, no booths had false backs leading to stashes aside from one that opened up to a cubby full of gut rot and a child’s shoe for some horrible reason she honestly didn’t care to ponder.

The floor under her weight creaked hollowly. She froze, a curtain of curls descending around her as she tilted her head slowly down to stare past her passable suit to the grimy wood below. She bounced once, mouth curling up past the point of natural in a festering grin of gleeful malignance. A trap door. A trap door that squealed open and had a lone scrapheap one could call stairs if drunk enough leading into a deep basement. Hellfire sprang to life, the cold deep violet and red glow casting enough light she didn’t have to work to see into the void. The smell of sweet rot mingled with age and dust, only kept strong enough by the isolation presented to it by the trap door and thick, cement walls acting as a tomb.

She briefly let a few extra eyes peel open on her shoulders, glancing around to see if the woman was aware of her being there. Greeted with emptiness, she descended. Boxes full of various trinkets, some stained with blood, others clearly leftovers of heists and shakedowns for valuables when debts couldn’t monetarily be collected. Nothing in the first half of the room half as big as the club upstairs was interesting to her. The scent of rot too disbursed to find the source of, was.

In the back corner, tucked behind a bend in the wall supporting the stage above, she found it. She found her.

Fifteen years did not do a body good. The dress, had it not been for the singular splash of violet not stained by rotting fluids, would have been impossible to discern as being purple. Brittle black hair lay scattered like a shattered halo around the skull, and the first interesting thing about the body. Concrete had risen to wrap around the eyes like a blindfold. The skull was tilted back and down, a broken neck giving no resistance to the buildings efforts to devour the body. Or perhaps it was trying to become one with her, or protect it from what happened to a corpse in a cold basement in a corner, tossed like garbage and sprawled painfully over the frozen concrete.

She knelt down next to it, prodding at the gown, at the flakes of black ichor raining from the crusted fabric where a clear gouge in the side only helped in making it more clear on what had happened. Several of her bones were cracked, especially the neck. But he didn’t seem the sort to beat his one claim to fame to death. She picked a piece of bone up, eyeing it for a moment before popping the shard into her mouth and chewing away.

A shift, the air grew colder, she turned, and stared back at mildly disgusted green eyes. Queen looked at her own corpse, then back at Devil, notably giving Devil the more disgusted look. Devil didn’t have to explain that eating the piece of corpse was part of her plan. How she needed a piece of someone to have the best chance of knowing exactly what their strongest desire was. How she’d eaten the bone to discover the sharp, acrid taste of vindictive wrath so brilliantly strong it made her nose wrinkle and her eye twitch. She didn’t have to, but the affronted, disgusted look was so spectacular she forgot herself for a moment.

“I can explain.” The exact second the last syllable got out of her mouth her tongue twisted back up and her teeth clicked audibly from the force of her jaw clenching shut. Queen just slowly shook her head and made to walk away, like Devil was a filthy wretch on the streets screaming at the pigeons. Devil cut her off, springing up before her far too close for the spirits comfort. The building let out a soft rumble, a warning, far more than the beast had been, and far more effective.

“I’ll admit, it was dimwitted of me to forget mortals are real good at holding grudges. And of course! Why wouldn’t the dead starlet want to sail off to the heavens when she could linger and make her murderers life Hell!”

Queen looked at her like Devil looked at people screaming about the end of the world on the streets right in her face when she was trying to enjoy two mortals punching the upper brain functions out of one another for a few coins on the street. A disdainful, blatant question of how Devil could begin to think she was worthy of speaking to someone of Queen’s caliber. Like Devil hadn’t just seen her corpses mottled boney remains on the floor. She didn’t care, she was _invested_. This _mortal_ had stolen a small victory from her, had played her for a fool.

No one had ever said Devil wasn’t greedy.

“The jackass upstairs still reeks of desperation. Do you know what he’s going to bet on tonight?” She tilted her head, using her height and the fact that her chin would meet Queen’s forehead if she leaned forward enough to try and hold all of Queen’s attention.

The look from before turned into the one a mother gave their child upon realizing that their little crotch spawn was about as bright as tar.

“Bright eyes, bright mind, of course you know. But what you _don’t_ know, is that I’m _very _forgiving. This kindhearted ruler of the fiery pits of Hell is all about second chances, and I’d be _more than willing _to listen to what ails your poor soul.” She paused, not noticing how she’d backed Queen up to the wall across from the stairs as she’d talked. It wasn’t important now though, not when she could see that familiar twinkle of mischief spring up.

“It’s not the worst effort to ruin someone in every way outside of breaking their legs and leaving them in the desert. But I can do better, I’ve _done_ better. And I’m inclined to make a trade with you! A fair one, might I add, seeing as you did swindle a grand piano from the tender embrace of Hell. I got business with that guy, but if you tempt me, I might just throw you a bone, put that jackass through worse than anything you ever could.” She leaned until her fiery breath moved the soft looking waves of white surrounding Queen’s face. Queen searched her, the same unreadable look from last night encroaching upon the sparks of mischief.

Devil didn’t claim to be a patient woman. She’d gotten good at getting what she wanted quickly, get her fix for mayhem and move on. Queen however, had ten years to get good at learning the little, intricate ways to make someone miserable. Devil knew this, she just didn’t realize how good the woman had gotten at it until she felt a drop of water hit her head. Then another, then a steady stream. Then the smell hit. Devil had the fortitude to not outright shriek and stomp in fury as fetid water streamed down onto her head, into her hair. She couldn’t stop her face from contorting. Losing the human qualities for a single moment as grey flesh rippled and a wave of heat slammed into the cold surrounding Queen.

Deep black claws embedded themselves in Queen’s throat, tearing into a wound that lingered even in death, drawing a sharp, soundless gasp of agony from the spirit. The walls surrounding them groaned, building now, a razor-sharp hiss of imminent retaliation from the tomb around them. Devil didn’t care, she only dug into the icy flesh further, two sets of eyes and one lone one on her forehead squinted at her in furious wrath.

**“You’re going to wish you’d taken my charity.”** Her gravely voice grate out through clenched teeth. Queens’ hands scrambled around the one in her throat, far from the cool picture of beauty. Blood spilled out of her mouth, tears filled her eyes, choking wheezes flowing out despite her lack of lungs and need to breathe. Slowly, Devil’s fingers slid out, leaving a seam of bright ichor meshed with flecks of hellfire on the slender neck. **“Now be a good canary and practice a song for me for when I’m done with business.”**

A flash of hellfire, and she was gone, leaving Queen to topple to the ground in pained shock. A thick wall of concrete descended, blocking the soul off from the rest of the world, guarding her, shielding her.

****

The man nervously paced by the staircase, straining his ears for the slightest sound. All the day, the building had been shaking despite no others doing the same. The bottles from the display wouldn’t stop falling, and an odd air of hatred chased patrons out faster, and now he stood alone in his club, nerves alight with fear for being in what he equated to the lions den. It was an hour past closing, and the Devil hadn’t shown her face yet. He feared she wouldn’t, that she’d grown bored of him, or had already gotten what she wanted out of his dealing with her. That she’d leave him in a club with a clearly angry soul out for his misery.

A sharp tang of ozone hit the air, he turned, and she stood half in the shadows. Her pure black curls like a waterfall of night spilling down to her knees obscuring all but her grey face and her vivid irises. He immediately approached with the confidence of a man who’d stood before a starved tiger and come out unharmed once before and going for round two.

“I want you to banish my tormentor.” He declared, stopping a few feet before her, the heat around her far too uncomfortable for him to go any closer to the source. She didn’t respond, waiting, and he continued, hoping to leave it as clear as could be. “The woman I killed, Queen. I want you to throw her to the deepest pit of hell and make her suffer worse than how I’ve suffered these years. If you need her body it’s in the basement, I’ll gladly drag up every last strand of hair and bring it to you—”

“One game.” She interrupted, a reptilian hiss lingering on the edge of her voice. “If you win, you get your wish, and I’ll get rid of the pest problem. If you lose, I get this club and every last thing inside it.” He nodded, the finish line calling to him like a siren. She held out her hand where two red dice sat in the palm. He slowly moved closer, realizing they were by one of the craps tables. The more rational side of him noted how she’d said one game, meaning no chance of a second attempt. It was all or nothing, but fifteen years of being driven to the point of breaking, he was a starving man before a banquet, he couldn’t stop himself from taking the dice.

He yanked on his collar, looking around the room as he tried to test the dice in a subdued manner, in an effort to not anger the unholy beast wearing the guise of a female. The bottles watched him, furious green eyes reminding him far too much of a hateful stare that had been leveled on him all those years ago, and he turned away. He’d won last time, he thought. Surely, the bitch rotting downstairs wouldn’t let him lose the club. She hadn’t let him lose in all the fifteen years he’d fought to make sure people didn’t feel too swindled out of their hard-earned money betting at his tables. He was confident she wouldn’t do it now.

The dice flew into the air, Devil didn’t watch them, watching something else instead. But he did, his chewed nails dug into the ratty fabric stapled to the edge of the betting table. She watched a luminous vison of undiluted hatred descend from the stage, weak from shock but driven enough by every other emotion to give no care to the stains still dripping down her throat and the shake in her knees. He watched the dice clatter to the table. She watched what anyone else would call an angel of death collapse on the bar, straining to keep moving, reaching a hand up to the ceiling. He watched, heart pounding in his ears, as snake eyes stared back at him.

As the weight of her victory descended, so did a portion of the balcony. A tomb obeying the call of its treasure. Devil caught the heavy wood a breath from his head, somehow making him feel two feet tall despite how she was of equal height to him. He shrieked in fright, falling to his ass and scrambling back. His skull cracked against a table, and he gave off a pained, hog-like squeal. Devil knew the shaking around them wasn’t her magic, wasn’t the power of the deal taking effect, but the anger of a tomb vying to do everything it could to keep ahold of its treasure. It didn’t have to worry about Devil stealing Queen away.

Devil was greedy, _and vengeful._

“You lose.” She purred, stalking like a predator moved towards wounded prey. He crawled on his hands and knees, using the bar to heave himself up where he started babbling out pleas for one more try. He called to the air around him, shouting for his tormentor to understand she’d made a mistake in letting him lose. How he could have asked to change his wish for something else. A noise, nails digging harshly into wood, and he turned.

Queen’s apoplectic rage hit him before the cold did, and before the cold set into his sweaty skin, the beast, maw of glass shards open wide, cracked forward. Half the bar was devoured, and spat out at him. He let out a noise akin to a hog in a slaughterhouse, but couldn’t avoid the edge that cracked into his skull.

“You know if he dies here, he might just stay, like you did.” Devil spoke to the demon a few feet behind him. Queens viper glare curdled his stomach, and he felt sick. Though the concussion certainly didn’t help. He was weak, sprawled on the floor in a messy heap of spit, blood, and sweaty sobs for mercy.

Queen’s wine-red lips parted, and he heard a voice he hadn’t heard in fifteen years.

“He’ll feed the furnace.” Somehow, in his concussed state, despite the pure loathing, he couldn’t remember hearing a prettier voice. He garbled out another plea, hands flailing uncoordinated at her, gripping the edge of the violet gown. His hand touched her, and she immediately responded. The black spots mercifully blocked out the sight of a heel descending on his eye. He couldn’t think about how odd it was that she could physically touch him despite her being dead. He couldn’t think anything after his nasal bone cracked and his brain was stomped into oblivion.

Queen gripped the remains of the bar, the beast snarled through glass at Devil. Devil, smug and pleased as could be, didn’t return the vitriol with her own, no, she returned it with smug satisfaction. A cat who’d caught a canary.

“Oh? Is that the voice that could call angels down I hear?” She tipped her head to the side, hair sliding away to expose the tip of one ear. Queen glowered, wiping a hand across her face to clear it of the remnants of what had happened earlier that day. She didn’t speak.

“Come now, I’m your boss now, won’t you give this poor sinner a little tune?” Devil didn’t bother to act as honeyed as her malicious request sounded, but she did manage a pout. Queen’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I’ve got plans for this place, big ones.” Devil chat like she was talking to a good friend, heat washed over Queen from the one standing beside her, looking at the shredded bar. “See, I like watching people ruin their own lives, but it’s quite tiring to have to hunt for mortals with horrible decision-making skills. But this place had me thinking.” She tapped a black nail on the bar, glee radiating from her dark frame.

“Why not just have a place people voluntarily go to! And this place has a little bit of everything already. It just lacks a _location._”

Queen couldn’t move fast enough to stop Devil from driving her nails into the wood, cracking the bar. She certainly couldn’t stop the ground under the club to shake, for the dizzying feeling of moving without actually moving to send her stumbling heavily into a bolted chair.

****

She didn’t know what Devil had done, but the windows in the doorway no longer spilled moonlight. Not being one for vows of silence, she didn’t care to remain in the dark.

“Just what have you done to my club.” She didn’t sound tired, much to her surprise. Devil, still leaning on her elbows on the bar, grinned.

“Your club? Nah, _my Casino._ I won it, and everything else in here, including you. And I’ll be honest with ya, I’m not fond of owning some shabby club.” Queen gave her a dead glare. “Ah, but I think I need a little motivation! This is such a trash heap now that I’ve got it in a different light, what do you say?”

“I say call it whatever you want, but I’m not letting you ruin my resting place.”

“Ruin? Hardly!” Devil smacked a hand on the table behind her, cracking the wood with the force of her blow. “I’m gonna spruce the place up! I’m not interested in owning a wreck like this on top of a spitfire who don’t get backtalking her new boss is the fastest way to get boot to the festering pits of Hell.”

“Can’t be any worse than having to stand in your festering presence.” Queen cocked her hip out, listening as the building settled in its new spot. She’d didn’t have to see with her own eyes to know they were in an entirely new area. The building was partially in a cave it seemed. Tucked right into the entrance, broken neon straining to illuminate the rock walls around them. It would take but a short stroll to reach the entrance, but behind them was a void of endless pitch. She was less than impressed.

Devil threw her head back, hair bouncing with the jaunty motion as harsh laughter belt out from her throat. She laughed until red stained tears spilled down her cheeks, face deep grey with malignant mirth. Queen waited patiently for her to regain her breath, already debating whether lobbing her own corpse out a window was a viable means of escape, and if it would be cruel to leave her guardian alone with the thing in front of her.

Yes, she decided as more _guests_ popped in through the door, the lock having broken during the move, it would be mean. And she highly doubted it would let her. It had a fondness for her eyes after all.

“Boss? Whats with the scrap heap?”

“Not to overstep my station, but I don’t think this will keep rowdy children from trying their luck at making a mark on the cave walls.”

“Nonsense Pirouette! They’ll see an abandoned building and go explore that and then we have a nice contained area to kill em!”

“Look, it comes redecorated with corpses!”

Devil, evidently marked as no longer high priority, was allowed to witness the minute shift in Queen’s face. From furious and annoyed to carefully soft. Enough to make her look the part of a meek soul fearing for their future safety. Queen turned to watch Devil’s favored lackeys prowl in, answering her silent call and Hell’s even more quiet greeting. She took a hesitant step back, putting the stool between her and the group. All she was missing was the hunched shoulders and the wasted effort to make herself appear smaller and less visible.

“And the sinner of the hour?” Devil cocked her head, not answering verbally to Wheezy’s question, not that she had to. Wheezy would immediately assume Queen to be the foolish mortal rather than an _unfortunate_ casualty. And Devil wasn’t remotely keen on correcting her, not when she felt the shift in the air, the tingle that was growing familiar to her, the very same that came before mischief happened.

“Who—” Wheezy cut the far smaller woman off. Easily a foot and a half taller, with muscles that strained against the tweed suit, the self-proclaimed leader of the lackeys got in her face, prodding the delicate line of a jaw, the soft, icy flesh of her cheek, and scowling.

“Boss this is awful mean of you. She ain’t gonna last more than a minute here.” Chips drawled, not coming as close as Wheezy had, but mostly because she was more interested in the corpse on the floor slowly dissolving under hellfire to leave a soul with the very same crushed face. Queen shakily smacked the hand away, and Wheezy smiled a smoky grin.

“What kinda bet did you lose?” Her rough voice washed over Queen same as the rank smell of cigar smoke. The building shifted just the slightest bit.

“I… I didn’t…” Queen wrung her gloved hands together by her chest, shifting to try and slide away from the wall of muscle and heat. Glass jingled behind Devil. An eye blinked through the thick curls to watch the beast’s wide, gleeful eyes take all of them in.

“I can’t tell if Wheezy’s initiating her or volunteering to torment her for eternity.” Devil heard Pip murmur to her brother. Dot snickered.

“Oh! Street worker then!” Wheezy’s goal was to rile her up, and it worked. The white-haired woman slipped out of the tiny space Wheezy left between them, hastily scrambling back and away. Wheezy briefly pondered why Devil had yet to say anything, but Devil was probably enjoying seeing another soul prepped for the hell that awaited her. A pretty face did little to save those who were tossed to the worst parts of Hell. So Wheezy followed, already debating where the woman should go. Devil didn’t much care to do more than shove those who’d lost bets at her lackeys tender mercy. This was a dance Wheezy had done a hundred times over, and yet, it never lost that spark of entertainment. 

Devil’s ear twitched, and it was only Pirouette who noticed her grin take a maliciously curious edge.

“I’ve done no such thing,” Her voice shook, straining to be powerful only to wobble at the end. Wheezy shot a hand out, grabbing the thin wrist with a heavy hand and pulling her closer to examine her gloved hand. Queen bit her lip to hide the whimper, hair falling into her face.

“Delicate lookin, bet the heavy labor would break you too fast… Maybe target practice? Hey Chips! Got room on your range?”

She turned to get Chips’ response, but Chips was debating with Chimes on who would get to string the dazed soul on the ground up to the trophy wall. She huffed, annoyed but in too good a mood to truly let it affect her. Queen gave a harsh tug back. Wheezy hadn’t expected it, and she stomped a foot forward to catch herself. The board under her groaned, and under the sheet of white, in better view in the new angle, a grin on the souls’ face was her only warning. One that didn’t come fast enough. Not faster than the board that snapped, cracking into her with astounding force, sending her off her feet and back, skidding to a stop below one of the ornate chandeliers.

The rest watched the spirit brush her hair back, scowl at the glove stained with ash, and pull it off. Wheezy sat up, blood flowing from her broken nose and teeth. She looked at the woman giving her an accusatory look, as if insulted she’d ruined a perfectly good glove. White heels clicked confidently over past her to Devil. Queen gave the rest a disdainful glare, stopping before their boss.

“I don’t care what you change the name to, but I am _not_ leaving.” The shake in her voice was nonexistent. “The next time that pest touches me, I’m putting her out of her misery.” With that, she dropped the glove at Devil’s feet and continued on past the stunned lackeys, up the stairs, and into her room.

In the silence of the room, with the soul sniveling in a ball, weakly begging for one more roll, and Wheezy cursing under her breath as she cracked her nose back into place, Devil breathed in deeply.

“So the trip went _great_.” Was all she said, with all surety and teeth and glee.


	2. There was more.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's long. I wanted to get everything i could out and make up for the long absence. If you don't care for blatant snake eyes, then the first chapter is right for you! If you're as weak to it as i am? Good news, this chapter is for you! And me and my need for wonderfully interesting characters and fun times and

Alone in a room that would allow for no visitors, the ghost of a woman long dead lost the tenseness she’d been carrying since her mausoleum moved location. No one could see her, no one could hear her, no one would have any ability to judge or observe for future antagonization. The heels on her feet vanished, the gown replaced itself with a robe whose physical reference had long since become a dust bunny farm. She stared at herself in the mirror, gloveless fingers running along her smooth neck. Over a decade of nothing. No voice, no vocalizations, no ability to do anything other than wheeze or gurgle on her corpses memory of blood.

The ice of the knife, the searing agony of nerves torn by a poorly wielded blade, all of it had lingered on her long after she shed her mortality. She’d tried _everything _to fix it, to reset herself so she could properly haunt the wretch in the furnace. She’d heard the stories, ghosts were supposed to say “boo” and all that, but all she’d ever managed was annoying gurgling she’d only felt more embarrassed about than anything else. But there, she’d spoken, quite plainly!

“Such a long time, wasn’t it?” She said aloud and her knees bent out from under her at the sound of her own voice. She collapsed into the vanity chair, heedless of the creak of protest it gave from the sudden weight. She stared at her neck, lifting her head and twisting her shoulders around, watching for the wound to reappear and take her voice away again. Nothing of the sort happened though, it remained smooth as before her murder.

“So wonderful to hear again, hello old friend.” She spoke to her own voice, hands shaking, eyes watering as her vocal chords greet her just as warmly in return. Distantly she was aware of the others down below teasing the smoky woman as they waited for their boss to tell them what to do. But it was as distant as could be in her mind. She hummed next, a soft tune, older than her but always easy, a lullaby. Just as smooth and warm as before, even as she added the words in a voice far too delicate, far from the power she’d once graced the club with. She didn’t mind, far too scared to grow any louder, do anything that would risk taking it all away again.

Her voice hitched as joyful tears began to spill down cheeks warmed by overwhelming delight. She kept humming as she stood, legs finding the strength to carry her to the panel she’d almost destroyed in a fit of anger early in her death. It creaked open weakly, as if hesitant to face her wrath. She cooed soft as a breeze to it, to the gramophone and to the wonderful stash she’d accumulated over the years. The needle was still intact, and to her endless fortune, her favorite song was unharmed. She’d find a way to get back the ones she’d broken in her grief. The machine wound freely, and grateful for the thick walls, she reassured herself that the others intruding on her grave were still doing other things—appraising furniture evidently, she hoped they stepped on the spot that still squelched with fluid even the original owners didn’t understand the origin of—and let the needle hit the disk.

The rich crackle of life, the little band playing its merry tune, she let herself sit back on the bed as her room seemed to flood with warmth. When the part to sing came on, she hummed, vocals bouncing and swaying perfectly. The words came next, twice before she felt confident enough to push for more power. She dropped the needle back, hands wringing on her lap, back straight as could be, and when the cue came, she _sang._

The Sunny Side of the Street poured clear as it had long—_so long, too long—_ago. She could almost see the jaunty band behind her, her favorite cellist and trumpet player watching with amusement as she sang her way into the hearts of those below, gazing up at her and the others with rapturous awe.

_‘Grab your coat, and get your hat, leave your worry on the doorstep’_ She’d always started with as much warmth and utter welcome in her voice and face as she could. The stage lights had always been dimmed, warming the stage rather than enveloping it and the surroundings with the harsh lights. In the tiny acoustics of her insulated room, her voice bounced back, filling her memories, stirring up ones long buried to keep the agony of losing the one thing she cherished above all else.

_‘Can’t you hear a pitter-pat, and that happy tune is your step, life can be so sweet’_ Her hips swayed, her muscle memory brought her back to long ago, and she was vaguely aware she was standing now. She couldn’t keep the smile from her song if she tried, so she didn’t. And _oh how wonderful it was!_ She didn’t even register muscle memory kicking in; her abdomen tensing for the more powerful second chorus, and abruptly pain flared up so suddenly she choked mid word.

Collapsing from the agony searing from the other wound she’d entirely forgotten about, she lay in a ball on the floor, knees beneath her, forehead pressing into the plush carpet, teeth clenched to keep the scream from escaping. She hardly heard the song end, staring balefully at the fibers pulling at her lashes. Her fingers curled, nails biting, then piercing her palm as bitter fury mounted in her chest right alongside the pain. She banged her fist on the thick carpet, angry it soundlessly absorbed the blow instead of cracked or broke like she wanted something to.

Slowly sitting up, she remained hunched, one hand pressed to the wound, the other tearing at the fabric below her, ripping strands up as she seethed. But, as it always did when it came to her beloved voice, the bitter fury dwindled to a mournful regret. She should have squashed the rumors of her flight out. She should never have even allowed a single drunk to tease the idea to anyone else. She should have buried a knife in that bastards spine and watched him howl in a paralyzed heap of fear. If she’d been strong enough, perhaps she could even heave_ his_ sorry ass over the bannister as he and his lackeys had done to her. Part of her reminded the rest that he was currently burning, and in Hell no less, in a place she could see! But the rest only languished in what she _should _have done.

At least until her tomb caught sight of the one who’d newly acquired it approaching her door. She sat, staring at the black ichor coating her hand as it vanished, seeping back into her skin. She looked at her robe, contemplating, and nodded to none but herself and the walls. That one had given her back her voice, not completely, but more than she’d had in _too long._ For that, she could play nice, at least, _a little._

***

Devil cared little for privacy or common courtesies, not when she got the distinct impression it would be met with disdain either way. She cracked her knuckles to the wood exactly twice before just barging right in. Her new acquisition looked at her from her reclined position on the bed, magazine so fragile even her touch caused the edges of the pages to crumble propped up by one bare leg. The fluffy robe hid where her other leg was, but all Devil cared about now was the potential for another less than pleasing prank. She narrowed her eyes and stepped fully into the room, letting the door shut itself behind her.

Queen tossed the magazine lazily over the side, not really getting out from her lax position but giving the other her full, silent attention. A content—if mildly curious—lilt to her expression made Devil feel all the more suspect, but she wasn’t ruler of hell for no reason, so she’d figured she’d take whatever the other dished out as long as the other lackeys didn’t see it.

“Got big plans for this place, but Wheezy just tried ripping up some filthy carpet and got smacked off the cliff. You wouldn’t happen to have been the cause?”

Queen’s brows arched high, a glimmer of ill amusement in those far too bright eyes. She shook her head, corners of her lips quirked in a far from friendly smile. But she didn’t speak, simply waited.

“Whatever the case, I’ve got your first order! I ain’t letting this run-down shack sit at the entrance of Hell, I have an image to maintain. So you get the wonderful task of breaking this place down to the skeleton.”

Now, Devil had vaguely been hoping hearing she’d have to dirty her hands would make the other less than pleased. She seemed the sort to not care much for manual labor, even in death. Devil knew the diva types, they always griped. Hell, Pirouette would cringe unbelievably hard any time he had to handle imps. It was a vague hope however, because she could still taste the vindictive wrath from the others bones and more of her wanted to test out her latest catch. She did it with all of her lackeys, and though Queen technically wasn’t hers—what with the building maintaining its claim on her body and soul—she might as well be Devils. And sure enough, Queen gave her a mildly confused look as she stood and stepped around the bed posts.

The robe vanished in place of an emerald green gown, and she gestured for Devil to lead. Devil went to open the door, but instead i opened for her, she squint, and they left into a veritable warzone.

***

Wheezy wielded a chair against the wallpaper, cursing haunted buildings with every flame filled breath she got out. Hopus shrieked from the stage, curtains strangling her and using her as a hammer against the stage. Pirouette was muffled, pinned under the several layers of grimy wallpaper, the very reason Wheezy was fighting a literal wall. Pip and Dot couldn’t exactly curse the chandeliers out, not caught in the chains as they were, but they were clearly trying. Mangosteen stood on the dance floor, staring at Phear as a bench seat dragged the lanky woman back to the wall, towards the exposed electrical wires. Chips huddled in a corner, shakily pointing her gun at a table covered in Chimes blood, and the boozy trio argued with one another next to a less than amused beast whose maw dripped with the remains of the trios lost limbs.

Evidently Hell had taken quite swiftly to the building.

Even Queen paused at the bannister, staring out over the mayhem. Devil felt ire build, disbelief at her lackey’s antics rising feverishly. And then Queen sighed.

“They scratched the piano.” She said, brows delicately furrowed with disappointment. The heat roiling off of Devil increased tenfold, but Queen wasn’t finished.

“Darling! My darling how could they have known? Do calm yourself, I’ve a favor to ask.” Everything immediately stopped, all except the table, which continued to sit there, somehow menacingly. Chips let out a weak sob.

“This wonderful host of ours wants a shakedown, won’t you indulge me?” Her voice, strong and warm and amused all at once, rang through the building. Her hips and shoulders wiggled as if demonstrating. And it did as asked, readily and happily.

Pirouette landed on Wheezy, the wall panels collapsing all at once. The ground rolled lifting tiles and carpet alike, the chandeliers snapped from their bonds and sailed to the ground below, shattering onto the floor, crushing Mangosteen under one. Queen relocated herself next to the beast, looking around at the progress as the newly marked casino shed itself of decades of grime and filth. Devil joined her, mind quickly working out the show of loyalty the tomb showed to the soul and filing it for later use.

Once it was all finished, nothing but the exposed pipes, load bearing pillars and skeletal walls remained of the former interior. The stage was also untouched, piano sparkling in the center. Devil looked around, especially at the piles of debris her lackeys were straining to drag themselves out of. Hopus just sat below the piano, using it as a shelter, squinting distrustfully at the curtains behind her.

“Great, now get it lookin nice.” Devil finally said to Queen after a few minutes of silence as the dust settled. Queen blinked, the pleased look on her face melting into careful disbelief.

“You mean clearing out the garbage?”

“To start, yes.” There was something in that statement that prodded at her own vindictive mischievousness, as if asking if it was getting the same feeling everything else was.

“Oh most certainly, _boss._”

And that was how all workers found themselves out varying distances from the cliff, to include a rather dazed ruler of Hell with a sizeable mark on her face, nose broken beyond recognition.

***

If Queen still feared death, she’d have never let the casino deliver a swift relocation to the one who really should have known to be careful with wording. But she didn’t, and the building was far too sure nothing would take its prize from it, influenced by the flames of Hell now burning away in its furnace. It had no such trouble doing as its prize wanted.

“If you could bet and if I still had any money to my name, I’d place money on her returning in a blaze of hellfire with far more limbs than before and an ugly face.” Queen spoke to the empty building as the floor began to shift, sliding debris that had managed to stay within the building towards the ever-hungry furnace.

It didn’t reply, it simply continued the clean up as Queen spun on her heel and began to stroll, trying to figure how to rework the interior. Habits long dead returned faster than her death and she found herself singing. There was no true power to her voice as she swept bits that stubbornly clung to the sticky floor, but it was leagues better than all the hours spent in vocal silence tapping away on the piano. The tomb watched outside at the intruders, watched a few of the intact ones scrabble for the downed leader, others dragging themselves to the further out broken ones.

Queen’s voice went up in a happy note after she found a piece of chalk and took to drawing on the walls; possible changes to the bar or the stage or tables. And that was how Devil, wreathed in fire, six fists clenched tight, face a vile mash of fury and malevolence, found the singer. Queen stared at her, and Devil stared back, air warping around her from the flames heat. From the ceiling, right next to Queen, poker chips and coins found lost in cushions rained down.

“Down to the ugly face.” Queen idly remarked, bright amusement radiating around her.

_“Oh I’ll show you ugly you litt—”_

“I’m thinking gold accents, and perhaps a bigger bar?” Queen interrupted, tapping the half-used stick of chalk on her chin. “Where did I put that mop, and a sponge!”

“Do you truly think I won’t make you regret that?! How arrogant have they gotten out there?” Devil seethed, getting right up to Queen, almost shoving her into the wall. Queen’s face slowly changed, going from chipper to a sort of disdainful boredom to a purely neutral stare, right back into fiery red eyes.

“If you’re hoping I fall to my knees and beg at your feet you vastly overestimate yourself.” To go from an almost mystical warmth and welcoming note to the barren wasteland of expression that was Queen’s response was what ultimately got Devil to cool down a little. Enough to hear the entire building around her groan with furious warning.

“I could toss you into that room of yours and leave you to rot for the rest of eternity like the spoiled little child you are.” Devil hissed, and Queen very pointedly stared at her, eyes devoid of all but the void now. The message clear that she’d been trapped already. Devil wasn’t threatening anything Queen hadn’t already experienced. It was no surprised that not a moment later, Queen was laughing of all things. A soft, amused chuckle that set Devil’s nerves on edge.

“What a sorry Devil you are.” Queen sing songed, no bite to what Devil should have taken as an insult. Instead it only left her confused. “Here you are, acting like you’ve earned any sort of right to claim my misery when all you’ve done is gift me three times now with all that I want! I haven’t even had to lift a finger! Are you positive those holy wings burned away entirely?” Head tilting, hair shifting, cool emerald glittered at the rather stunned beast of sin, but Queen wasn’t done with the now unstable ruler.

“I tell you what, _boss,_” There it was again, that title that all the other lackeys called her, spoken in a coy, teasingly playful tone from a voice so rich and smooth and _pleasant_, it made Devil wonder if the title was given as an insult or not. “I’ll play nice, you want to remodel? You’ve got it. You want poor souls flooding the entrance of Hell, begging to toss aside the pearly gates to give you entertainment? I’ll give that to you. I’m not one for owing debts no matter how freely the gift was given, so for your generosity, I’ll give you what I can.”

Jasmine. Queen smelled like jasmine. She was closer to the other than before, actively using Devil’s original attempt to force Queen to cower to instead stand close enough all Devil could see were vivid eyes, all she could smell was jasmine, and then, Queen was gone again, using her own incorporeal tricks to reappear with a mop of all things and a heavy apron over her gown back where the bar used to be. The beast watched Devil, glass gaze intent and cold.

“You’ll have to get the materials yourself unfortunately, and perhaps find someone good with designing casinos.” Queen called back as she began working at the dust coated floor, prepping it for the future tile or carpet. Devil wordlessly observed the other for a handful of seconds, then she was gone and the other lackeys were hesitantly poking their heads in. At least until Mangosteen got tired of the awkward blockade and just trudged right in and up to the ghost. She wasn’t insulted or afraid, and she liked the pep the ghost put in everyone’s step.

“I want billiard tables.” She said to the far smaller woman. Queen gave her a rather confused blink, and nodded. Mangosteen, in turn, grinned a far too wide grin and asked for something to sweep the chunks out the door. The others, picking up the shift, entered as well, giving the building the first deep clean it had in decades. All used to the fast paced adaptability working alongside a ruler of a den of vile, despondent, or sometimes uncaring creatures.

***

The first thing to change was the building itself. With hellfire in its furnace, bathed in Hell’s influence, it was nothing for Devil to work her magic. Though Queen was never around when the stage was shifted around, when the walls extended out to triple the original size, and when the bar was moved to a new non-central location, she did nothing but nod in approval and the building did nothing to show any distaste towards its changes. Though, Queen did wind up the closest she’d ever come to slack-jawed when the race track was added, even more so when Phear led Hell horses in the front entrance.

Devil preened at that. Everyone else liked having their limbs attached, so they didn’t mention it.

It was rather comical to see the poor soul Devil ultimately found to figure out how to design everything cower at the woman’s feet. Especially when Queen swept in and got the terrified debtor—because that’s what the man was, a sucker who owed a debt and had been given a chance for an out by working his trade on a decrepit shell of a building—practically throwing himself into impressing the white-haired woman who he viewed as his savior.

With no budgetary limits, he’d gone above and beyond, calling upon friends on the outside who knew where to find the best and what got people flocking to places. The first thing to come in was the flooring, followed swiftly by the material for the walls. Rich golden cream paper with pristine, barely visible patterns that caught the light and entranced the eye. Lush, vivid red carpeting down around the gambling tables, pristine marble tiles at the bar and the dining area with gold patterns as intricate as lace. Deep mahogany wood for the bar, with furniture to match and pure white tablecloths to adorn the dining tables.

The beast was moved from the center of the building to the ceiling, glass turned to a mosaic, the center of which where the largest chandelier hung, casting glittering green flecks of light down and out around the whole of the upper floor. The lower track area wasn’t ignored, given equal amounts of focus when the upper floor was being built up. When Devil was out in the world, and when things were going particularly well, Queen would walk the floor, singing for the builders and plumbers and electricians as they unknowingly turned her tomb from a hovel to a masterpiece when they were on break from the work. She’d always stop before Devil or lackeys returned, but it was enough to bolster them, make them work twice as hard and fast.

Inspiration poured from the designer and a few of his friends he inevitably dragged into it where his vision failed to produce something he could settle for. Strip lights guided the gaze from the entrance around the buildings upper floor, following the lower area to the stage, drawing the eye to what he and the rest deemed the centerpiece. The only hiccups occurred when Devil, evidently testing her newest acquisitions patience, would bring oddities in. Like the giant bishop chess pillars. And the giant dice she wanted leading up to the front entrance. Queen gave her the stare of one actively deciding the most vile course of action guaranteed to deter future repeats, and surprisingly enough—at least to everyone else—when she just put her foot down on the number of pillars, Devil agreed.

She agreed, asked to hear a song, and was irately introduced to a list of material still needed.

She left with a pep in her step those who knew her feared.

Sooner rather than later, the place was near a state of opening. Tailored by enthusiastic architects and designers, a far cry from the dredges not a hundred meters from the back of the casino and down the cliff, it was a work of art. Vastly unique to the other casinos and clubs dotting the city outside the cave entrance and already luring the curious.

Devil however, was more amused at how swiftly the others went from suspicious and even hostile towards Queen, to being wrapped around her finger. Mangosteen had taken one look at the billiard tables and promptly plucked Queen from the ground, and asked “manager” where she wanted to go. Queen, much akin to a deer in headlights, had vaguely gestured to her room upstairs, the one thing not touched or changed by Devil or others. Eventually, Mangosteen took to shadowing the far smaller woman when she wasn’t helping workers lift supplies and move material around.

When Mangosteen asked to work at the casino instead of in her little portion of Hell, none were surprised. They all however, were rather stunned when Devil snort and waved her off.

“Of course, you’re workin’ here. All of you are. I ain’t having some mushy soul try and deal out to a table of demons. Sure as hell ain’t having the imps run the likes of the bar!”

And then the nickname that Mangosteen started spread to the others, of calling Queen ‘Manager’. Though, some weren’t too sure what to make of it when Devil got in on that too.

When Queen approached her with a list of stuff needed for the bar, hardly sparing a thought to telling the literal Devil they needed to start figuring out how to stock the kitchen and bar.

“What’s the use if it’s decorative only?”

“I’ll get right on it, manager.” Devil replied, tongue rolling over the title teasingly. The others froze, fearful she was showing she knew about it and was less than pleased souls she owned were taking orders from someone who wasn’t her. Queen, either uncaring, used to hearing it from the others, or picking up on the amusement from the ruler of Hell, replied just as sleekly.

“Glad to hear it Boss.” A purr at the end. Devil snort, an almost barely there hint of fondness in the noise, and once more she was out and about at the request of the soul. If there was ever a reason Wheezy had to not going for revenge for the board incident, it was that scene right there.

***

The first week of opening was something for the record books. Several things happened that day that seemed to make Hell itself shake with glee. From a demon getting in Queen’s face and hissing at the one not wearing the mark all the other lackeys wore, signaling their servitude to Devil and getting launched practically into the sun by a bubbly Mangosteen. To a mortal threatening to call the police on the bar for stocking liquor and getting laughed right on out of both the casino and the police station.

How Queen had seen a skeleton ranting and raving at Pirouette, swooped in, and somehow had the skeleton meekly apologizing and quietly returning to the race track to watch the next race, no one could figure out. Of course, mortals were few and far between at first. But word had spread from the workers and builders that an enchantress of a siren was tucked away like a treasure. And more arrived after rumors spread further that a singer with a voice that could call down angels would sing on occasion. More still as a week turned to three months. That—and poker with demons was vastly more fun than previously assumed.

As the numbers continued to rise, when the doors had closed, Queen, perched perfectly on Devil’s desk—“you have to have one boss! Think about how confused sinners are gonna be when you take em to a boring office of all places to finalize deals!”—would grin at Devil over the days reports. Silently showing she was definitely the cause for the uptick of mortals willingly approaching Hell just to play roulette or poker or watch unholy steeds race. Devil wondered if this was how Queen had gotten the original place up and running as steady as it had.

In a fit of boredom, she’d gone down to the boiler room, to the furnace, and ripped a piece of the soul trapped in Hellfire, burning eternally as fuel to heat the building, to take a look at whatever she could of the past. It wasn’t her forte, not how she liked to pretend it was to dimwitted mortals wearing their sins on their sleeves. But she’d seen enough to know the man had practically given another their retirement in return for the singer and despite dropping serious money for her, he made it back in under a year and then some. He’d been too seared to see much else, including not a scrap of the voice she always missed.

She’d brought it up to each of her lackeys when the thought struck her, and when Queen was nowhere in sight. And she wasn’t all too sure how to take the fact that Mangosteen and Hopus had indeed heard her sing but couldn’t remember when or if they’d heard her well enough to relay to Devil. How the mortals had spoken so rapturously of her spirits voice intrigued her, the little envious part of her direly wanting nothing more than to hear it finally. And of course, she _did_ own Queen—even if she didn’t really, she owned the building, and therefore Queen, not the other way around—so if anything she should have been the first.

Eventually, she started to get creative. During the construction, when Devil was there, looking at the current results, she’d stood beside the ghost. Remarking out loud how it was coming along nicely. So nicely in fact that it was almost tune worthy. Queen snort and shook her head. A particularly good wine or alcohol added to the inventory? She instead watched Queen crack the bottle against the unfinished bar, causing the cork to burst off, nailing Chips on the forehead and drenching Devil in bubbly alcohol. She’d let the run off drip into a spare glass on the counter awaiting the backboard to be finished, taken a sip, called it not counterfeit, and handed the rest off to one of the imps, urging it to take the bottle to the other imps. Devil didn’t like remembering the time she had a bunch of drunken imps bumbling about with tools and boozy bravado.

Even hiding didn’t work. The casino saw _all_. And in turn, spread that to its prize. Disguises meant nothing to something that could see the flaws. Queen, finding it silly, sometimes played along. She’d ask the worker if they’d be so kind as to get the floor plan for the area she was in. If the imp would like to help Pip and Dot on the ceiling with the electricians. If the reflection in the mirror that clearly wasn’t hers would help get the zipper on her dress down. It got to the point where she’d just blow a kiss at the imposter before Devil could so much as start the act. It was a game, one the lackeys took great amusement in. They especially loved to see Devil trying to merge with the door barricading Queen from the world when all work was done for the day, listening as intently as she could despite knowing the door was far too thick, walls too absorbent of sound.

None of them bothered to tell her that on occasion, when Devil fell asleep in the completed office, they’d find Queen reading the daily log of what was completed, what else was needed, what was being ordered, with Devil’s head on her lap, humming a soft tune. Devil never broke into her room after the mirror incident, though the debate as to why was still up in the air. She just tried other means when she had the chance. Wheezy and a few of the eldest under Devil’s wing were vaguely confused as to why she didn’t just force Queen’s voice out. The newer lackeys found it hilarious to watch their frightful boss toddle in the form of an imp behind Queen, ears pricked forward for the slightest hum. But all figured if Devil was content, then nothing else mattered, because a content boss was a less stab-happy, violent boss. A less violent boss meant less terror for those who were bound to serve her.

No one thought about a once mortal getting up close and personal with entities even they detested facing off against.

***

Devil lounged on a barstool by Queen as the two watched a particular table of rowdy guests only grow rowdier the more alcohol they were served. It was a testament towards how drunk they were that where everyone else in the vicinity was either on their best behavior or making tracks to anywhere away from an entity known for awesome power and temper tantrums that the table simply didn’t care. They’d already smashed two glasses and cracked the table. They played their own little game of poker, disturbing those around them who only really wanted a moments peace enjoying food. Two demons and three mortals, with the demons seemingly egging on the mortals without skimping on being obnoxious themselves.

“If I chase em out, will I get a song?” Devil leaned in to lay the bargain on the table. Queen glanced her way, bright eyes warring between amused and annoyed as yet another glass shattered and one of the demons cheered.

“Are you looking to apply for a bouncer role? I’m terribly sorry to say we’ve got that covered, Boss.” Though it was also rather telling that she didn’t gesture or go hunting for either Mangosteen or Wheezy. Instead she twirled one of her cards between her fingers, head tilted just a breath as she internally debate.

“If they break one more I’ll give them to Mangosteen.” She finally decided, and Devil clicked her tongue. It was a silly offering anyway, more playful than hopeful. Queen, quite confident there would be another glass smashing as an imp grumpily dropped another glass down on the table before flapping away, went towards the track where Mangosteen was currently intimidating a couple of guests into sitting nicely and watching the demonic horses do what race horses did.

Except the path she took inevitably had to pass by the table, they’d picked the one on the closest path to the tracks. And one spotted her, one who vaguely remembered seeing one of the workers talk to her. Alcohol powering their brain, they called out to her as they grabbed at her arm.

Martini, confused as to why he’d be hearing wood crack, looked around for the source. To find hair thin cracks in the veneer of the bar top spidering from Devils once lax grip on the edge. Martini quickly decided the more unnerving fact was that Devil’s bright orange gaze was lazy, her posture other than her shoulders and arms reclined and confidently _lazy_.

Queen, rather used to drunks, albeit a bit annoyed these ones weren’t like the regulars back in the old town who knew better than to touch her, gave them her attention. They awkwardly slurred the need for a mediator as they were starting to think someone was cheating. They didn’t know she was the manager, just that she worked in the casino, and that’s all that mattered. Queen arched a brow and looked around at the table, at the sneering grins on the demons faces, on the mortal so blitzed they’d just started drooling on their current hand, and the other two mortals looking at her in boozed up expectation.

One hand went by, and green eyes stared at one of the demons with a bored sort of dispassion. He, in turn, bared his teeth. The others caught her focus and the other demon nudged his partner. He didn’t care that her eyes followed him as well, equally accusing.

“Little soul thinks yer layin it thick wit’ th’ rest.” He teased. The other let rip a barking laugh, slapping a heavy hand on the table until the corner broke off. Martini watched as Wheezy, over by Pirouette, halfway across the casino, took notice and dropped the polite conversation she was having.

“Careful there,” Queen spoke up, voice honey sweet and velvet smooth. “It wouldn’t do to bring such poor taste to a casino. I can’t recall meeting a high roller who took the easy way to the top and got a foot down the sidewalk afterwards.” The mortals agreed, now giving the demons suspicious glares. “But you aren’t that type, are you? What’s say you have a game that’s entirely fair?” She pulled her own deck of cards from her dress, immediately attracting the interest of all three mortals and the attention of the observers.

“Loser pays for damage, hm?” She watched all but the one demon eagerly nod. He was harshly jabbed by the other and relented. The old deck was shuffled back to the owner who angrily grumbled about the drool on a few of them and the new one was artfully doled out. The game of blackjack began with Queen dealing the cards when asked.

“What we win?” The least drunk mortal asked her as the first round neared its end. Queen’s lips curled into a coy grin.

“That’s up to you, but I’d imagine a few rounds of drinks on the house is on the table.” And for the boozed-up mortals, that was plenty good enough. The two demons however, scoffed.

“Aint smart to go around makin deals with demons, no one told you that ‘fore you started workin here?” The closest one rumbled.

“It’s why I’m not.” Queen answered back smoothly. “I’m just a dealer is all.”

Martini looked up, catching movement on the ceiling and feeling an impending sense of doom approaching as Pip and Dot peered down at the table, snickering to each other from the rafters. But more worrying was the rumble he now heard from his Boss’s location. The other demon, not wanting the fun to end, once again nudged the aggravated one.

The cards were laid out on the table, and all playing the game turned to the two with the pathetically low hands, the demons both staring in disbelief at their hands, totaling four and five respectively.

“Why’d you try bluffin with that?!” One of the mortals remarked. The first demons claws drove into the table, and he twisted to glare at the dealer. Queen tsk’ed, as if admonishing the both of them for trying to play the table. In response, quick as a flash, he snapped an arm out wrapping his hand around her waist. The other grabbed at the closest wrist to look at the deck of cards in her hand, trying to find how she’d used sleight of hand so perfectly he hadn’t seen it. They were both sure they’d had higher numbers, how it was swapped out in their hands, they couldn’t figure out. The one who’d grabbed her waist drove his thumb into an old wound never fixed, and the cards fluttered out of Queen’s hands as a strangled scream escaped her.

“What is this?!” He got out. And Martini would give it to him for getting that much out before Mangosteens hand was on his wrist and tightening to the point the bones snapped. Queen staggered back, pale as death, vanishing as black ichor poured from the reawakened wound. The cards vanished as well, following their owner as the building creaked. The rafters bent, the floor rolled. Mangosteen picked the once towering demon out of his chair like he was a toddler throwing a tantrum, her broad grin strained from her mouths inability to truly show how furious she was. Wheezy clapped a hand down on the other demon’s shoulder, her searing breath scorching his ear as she leaned closer to speak.

“Awful rude of ya t’ manhandle our manager like that. Ain’t that right Mangosteen?”

Mangosteen nodded sagely, quite easily ignoring the frantic scratching from her captive. She was going to break more, shift her hand a bit perhaps, let the broken bones really drive into the flesh. But a wave of heat and pressure sent the mortals scrambling away in fright and the demons freezing in undiluted horror. Devil wordlessly looked at the mess left by them. At the shattered glass, at the wood scattered from the table, the utterly ruined table cloth, and the spots of black ichor staining the tile. Then blazing red eyes locked onto theirs. They were dragged towards the upper floor, shrieking and begging behind an overly eager Mangosteen as Wheezy directed the mortals to the door and imps to the mess.

No one heard anything once the door all were certain was the office door slammed shut, cutting off the noise in the suddenly silent building. A minute later, Mangosteen was descending the stairs alone. She strolled up to her little corner, and asked one of the players if it was her turn yet. And like that, everything rushed to go back to business as usual.

***

Queen ranted vile insults into the carpet, thumping one fist on the plush floor as the other pressed over the wound. Heat that wasn’t natural spilled over her fingers as the regular flow of ichor died. Ever since the building upgrades it’d started bleeding more than ichor. She glanced down in her curled position at the lightshow the hellfire let out. Before, early on, she’d panicked at the sight, believing it to be a sign she was bound to the man in his fate to burn as well. But it never lingered, never burned her, only spilled out a surprisingly soothing heat. If anything it chased the ichor away faster, something she was eventually graceful for when her late nights tempting fate to sing with her full voice ended with her cursing everything.

As such, since it wasn’t actually doing any harm, she simply didn’t see the need to ask anyone. She just internally swore that if she wound up like Wheezy, spitting smoke out every breath, she was going to make Devil miserable until it was fixed. Three minutes after the assault, she was looking as if she’d never been hurt. Not an ember remained. Ten minutes later, Devil was at her door.

“Should’ve taken the offer.” Devil started, and Queen recognized it for what it was. She put a hand to her chest daintily.

“And take a bit of fun from Mangosteen? I think she’s starting to atrophy, I simply couldn’t.” She was fine, she wasn’t about to do whatever ghosts did for keeling over. She wasn’t traumatized, and was certainly able to walk the floor. Devil made a point of following close to her heels, her heat spilling gently over Queen, searing the air to near uninhabitable levels for the demons and uncomfortable levels for the mortals. A warning as much as it was a message.

***

Queen took the incident for what it was. A sign she wasn’t playing the same field as before. Where she was known and adored, no one ever laid a hand on her. No one so much as threatened her. Not after the only one who did was never seen again and a bag of concrete was left outside his spouses door as a message. She’d almost been pampered in a way by the town, returning the favor by singing away their stress and lightening up their days. But in Hell, there was no mafia wannabe hiring desperate muscle to scare off would-be assaults. No town staunchly determined to keep one of the joys they had in the dreary place. And certainly, none who could tell her how demons and ghouls and whatever else crawled out of Hell acted.

She’d slipped, fallen back to the past in that one moment, and she’d almost paid for it if it hadn’t been for her tomb and Mangosteen. But more than that. She’d forgotten what she’d had to do early on in the previous town. She wasn’t sure how it was possible to do so but she had. She’d forgotten how she’d enforced her own law in that building. In that club, her word was held above all else, the owner too eager to fall over her feet to keep her and keep his pockets full. She’d never cultivated an angelic persona, none believed she’d save them if the mobsters came to town. Not unless she felt like it.

She’d slipped, somehow believing it would be much the same, and as she stared at her cards, at the Queen of Hearts staring back at her, she let a lone nail begin to tap rhythmically on the vanity. She didn’t have a mobster with muscle to back her, she had workers who worked for Devil, and listened to her out of threat of getting bat straight out the door by her tomb.

Her nail stopped, her reflection froze, bright green eyes focused on the floor beneath her. She tapped it lightly with her stocking-clad feet, as if she even needed to do that to gain its attention.

“I fear I’ve slipped again.” She spoke aloud, listening as the walls creaked, the mirror shifted as the wall behind it pressed forward, closer to her. “Giving far too much, don’t you think?” The pipes closest to her creaked. “Ah, I do believe it’s time to correct that before someone gets it in their head to do something to me not even you can fix. What a tragedy that would be, don’t you agree?” Around her, the steady pulse of water rushing through the pipes began to race faster, the furnace ratcheted up, eager, ever eager for her.

“Let’s go set some ground rules.” The cards slipped back into her dress. There was no need to spare a glance at her reflection, she knew she was perfect for setting the stage, all it’d take is someone slipping to start the show. But first, she wanted to test a few things.

***

Chips kept the casino coins flowing, her hands near a blur as she kept up the rhythm of counting, doling out, trading for actual money to be used outside gilded walls. From her spot in the booths, she had a perfect vantage point to look out to the casino and spy things she could gossip about later. So in it was she that it was only when out the corner of her eye she spotted a flash of violet that she finally noticed she wasn’t alone with a couple skeletons. She almost flailed, but, much to her internal pride, she only gave out a tiny shriek and her shoulders only went up to her ears. She turned, backing away so the skeletons could take up her spot while she gave her attention to who they’d all decided was best listened to. If only so none of them ended up like Wheezy, but also because Boss liked her too.

“Manager! What can I do ya for?” She asked, tipping her hat back so she could look up those few inches into the ghosts face.

“Walk with me.” The white-haired woman answered simply. And Chips followed when she left the booth, her pace sleek. It was as they were heading into the back hallways behind the workstations, designed to allow the workers fast tracks to the vaults and the lounge. The Managers white heels clicked steady, light, like a clock, far from the clunk of Chips boots. She almost felt like trying to walk lighter to match the graceful step of one who’d walked a stage for years.

“Did I do something wrong?” Chips asked after a few minutes of navigating the back offices.

“Tell me, do you recall construction, where you were tossing the unused tiles into the air and using them as target practice?” Queen spoke after a reaching the area near the vault. Chips would have feared it—this was where walls were thickest and the building seemed to press down on any who entered. But she didn’t read any hostility in the loose shoulders or the patient smile. So she nodded, fingers fumbling with the tassels on her holsters.

“Aww, ya ain’t still mad about that are ya? I swear I meant my apology! Didn’t mean t’ toss the good ones up!” Queen’s smile widened, and she shook her head.

“I was simply curious, how good is your aim?”

“The best! Got my eyes all squared away by Boss! Quickest hands in the casino I reckon!” Chips chest puffed up, her prideful grin wide and toothy. Queen held up a billiard ball, it had a slight crack in it, likely one of the busted ones destined for the garbage. She pressed a kiss to it, and Chips watched her, utter confusion tugging her head to one side, but her smile remained bright. Then holding it back into the air, she let Chips see the perfect red kiss mark.

“Could you hit the center of that?” The Manager asked, and Chips scoffed light-heartedly. Queen arched a brow, expression coy, and she tossed it into the air lightly. Chips was putting her gun back in the holster before the crack of the gun was finished hitting their ears. Queen watched the ball roll away, hole dead center in the lipstick mark, smoking away.

“Ain’t nothin’ Manager, gonna have t’ work harder t’ give me a challenge!”

“What about live targets?” Queen responded, and Chips, thrown by how the room almost seemed to get darker, how the walls pressed ever closer, got _excited._

A day later, when a patron was too busy screaming at Queen in a drunken stupor to realize just who she was screaming at, her only response by the other woman was a much closer look at bright green eyes. They were almost entrancing to the woman, enough to make her stumble on her words and drop the hands she’d raised to smack that infernal quirked smile off the managers face. She felt icy lips press against her forehead and leaned back, confused anger turning back to regular anger. And then she wasn’t doing anything but falling. She didn’t even hear the crack of a gun, just a flash of malicious disdain so glacial it would have sobered her right up had she the chance. Chips took exactly two days of the new game Queen had given her to fall utterly into adoration for her Manager.

***

There was no need to come up with a new game for Mangosteen. The towering beast of a woman was already clued into Queen’s subtle quirks. But still, to make it fair, she’d told the other to let the rest have their fun as well. So when Queen let a man drag his hands around her waist, she let Mangosteen tear those same limbs off. Wheezy too, answered readily to the call of a loving brush of cool fingers along jawlines or around necks. They got into their own game, ever vigilant to see elegant fingers caress the cheek of a demon who forgot just what place he was in. The first demonic victim actually, something Wheezy was proud to have gotten. She thought it was more Queen testing them, seeing what they could do, something she was fine with. To show off the strength and internal inferno gifted to her and get a delighted glint in viridian eyes was nice. It’d been so long since Boss had been remotely amused by anything other than their antics.

If the little Manager wanted to see Boss’s chosen curb stomp the endless maw into a vile demons throat then by Devil she would. And sure, Wheezy could hold a grudge for the board to the face on the first meeting. But she knew well and good she’d overstepped on something of Boss’s anyway.

That, and they’d leap across the casino if it meant keeping the casino itself out of the mediating ring.

***

Pip and Dot almost shrieked when, turning the corner on a rafter, they came face to face with the dimly lit visage of their Manager. They clung to one another, then realized what they were doing and simultaneously punched the other in the arm or thigh. She was pretty, they’d give her that. And lively too, and certainly lenient on the pranks they pulled all things considered. She even let them perform on the stage! Letting them get some limelight and appreciation for the unbelievable flexibility they had mixed with their ability to improvise on a whim, knowing exactly what the other was doing and how to make it more grand.

So when she idly wondered what fun they could have descending on rowdier guests, they didn’t even have to spare a glance at one another to nod in tandem. The imps were nice for a shock to guests, but Pip and Dot took great pleasure artfully slipping from their coveted shadows into the bright gold of the casino down onto cheaters whose hats were toyed with, whose hair was tugged or brushed purposefully against. Them, and later Chimes, who most often hid in the shadows just above the heads of guests abusing the equipment. She, as Queen put it, was the first warning to stop banging on the sides of slot machines or kicking the claw machines. There was something infinitely frightening about seeing Queen leaning on the side of a machine as Chimes loomed above her, teeth gleaming bright white in the light, shine of metal on her nails, eager to burrow into fur, scales, and flesh.

Pirouette could have cried when Queens face morphed into genuine glee as he showed her a bit of what he once did decades upon decades ago. The spins and twists and dips, he couldn’t help but pick her up and bring her along in his little display. Late nights were often the best time to interact more with their Manager, and with her starting games with them all, it was all too easy to casually bring up old dance habits. Of course, he was even more eager to deliver bone-breaking blows with but an artful twirl after Queen let her heel slide up the leg of a demon who’d moments before been practically strangling the skeletal dealer at her table. The demons neck, even as muscled as it was, was far too easy for the graceful worker to crush.

Martini, Rum and Whiskey loved watching for painted lips to touch an offered glass. Those too inebriated or high on winnings to bother with asking whether the pretty dame walking by their table wanted to sit on their lap or take the drink they shoved in her face. She’d offer to show them a magic trick, the liquor would turn the bright candy green of Absinthe, and the next drink they took would be their last. The next bite paralyzing them and allowing the imps to descend easily or for the aerial workers their turn.

Though, Rum wasn’t opposed to shambling out, grabbing the ones she decided weren’t worth even a game, such as those that slapped or laid a hand anywhere on Managers body, and shambling back while they screamed. It took but a few meaty thwacks with the cleaver most of the time to silence them.

Phear, despite often holing herself up in her own little section was more than willing to let Queen wander amongst the stands and the stables. She’d even picked a favorite. A particularly sleek hell horse who breathed out violet fire. She liked seeing Queen frown at a guest and tap her thigh repeatedly. The horse loved it too, loved stomping down with infernal hooves and strength no mortal horse could ever have.

Hopus however, much like Chimes, was one of the worst. If a person caught Queen pulling her gloves taut over her fingers, as if readying for a magic trick, and if they weren’t too out of it, most of them leapt at the nearest escape. Others just threw themselves at whichever other worker was closest or immediately got on their knees before the ghost to beg forgiveness. When they begged, she’d hum, vibrant, vile green slivered with thought, and if she ultimately decided they’d learned to not start fights or heckle near the stage, she’d let her hands drop and walk off, and they’d be spared. All others never made it. She’d draw a card from under her glove, often a spade, and the next thing pulled out of Hopus’ hat was their head.

***

But all of that paled in comparison to those who thought her guardians too far away, too weak and easy a target without any of the Devils workers nearby. The horned goblin had been angry, sure he’d had a winning hand. It was before the knowledge was common, that she didn’t have just the workers. So seeing the Manager, in her sleek red gown and slim shoulders and rolling gait, he’d grabbed her. Lamenting to her while keeping her turned away, his heavy palm on her hips, his hot breath on her bare shoulders, where they met her slender neck. The entire building seemed to pause. The lights flickered but once as Queen stared mutely at the hand on her. The debate amongst the workers was heated and swift, arguing what to do, who she’d signal. But she didn’t signal anyone. Instead she stared at the hand far too close to an old wound, and the air dipped in temperature around her.

A few of the workers argued it should be Mangosteen because the goblin was massive, his hand easily eclipsing Queens hip and lower back. He was also one of those with a nasty damage output, and one that they often left to Devil when his kind wandered too close to her space. Which only lead to a few arguing that Devil needed to be called.

And then his meaty thumb brushed against the spot, that dreadful spot Queen loathed and barely a hitch in her breath later, a rafter was swinging low, cleaving a line straight through his shoulder out to the other side. The floor rolled, the chair toppled, and he flailed, his massive weight shaking the ground. Except it hadn’t been his weight. No, it had been the ground itself cracking, splitting open to unleash an inferno of Hellfire that wrapped around him as swiftly as the pipework did. He was dragged shrieking in horror and pain, flesh and fur crackling under the heat, into the ground itself. And the manager dusted her dress off a bit, an imp offered her a handkerchief to wipe a splotch of blood from her cheek, and she was once more strolling lightly through the card area as if nothing had happened. The building too, returned to a less oppressive state.

But that was because it could. The message had been delivered as swiftly as the demise of that goblin. Get in her face, pat the table by her hand, tease her, nudge the air by her, but never touch, never spit at or threaten or aggravate. She learned the rules of the new location swiftly, with ease, and she enforced her own. Even more so to those who deemed it best to ignore her in favor of storming up to the second floor and attempting to get into the main office. Devil was quite entertained to see pests she loathed having to squash get bat clear out of the casino via swift blow from the casino itself as Queen brushed the ‘request to enter’ sign off at the bottom of the stairs.

All games, all little side entertainment, Queen was careful not to forget the first game she’d started. And though the rest swore they’d heard her hum or sing before, Devil never did.

***

At least she’d thought she had. Until a fidgety, twitchy mess of a woman begged to make a deal. Queen had thought she was trying to ask to be a dealer and was about to say no. Only to find her mouth saying yes instead. The woman was too nervous to care about the disparity between the acquiescence and the pure confusion. She babbled out a thanks, stating her desire for a means to attract any man she wanted, and shook Queens hand harshly. Normally, the touch of a sweaty palm to even her glove would send Queen into a dangerous mood. But she couldn’t work up the usual wrath, and even her tomb passively let it happen. The woman fled afterwards, leaving Queen standing there by the second floor, entirely lost.

It got worse when she found a paper in her other hand, one that held unnatural weight to it.

Devil didn’t even have time to finish looking up before Queen was in her office, silently holding the paper up with the single most confused face Devil had ever had the pleasure of seeing on Queen.

“What is this?” Queen finally got out. Devil gingerly took it from the slack grip, opening the rolled paper to take a look.

“A contract. I gotta say this isn’t what I expected when you said you’d give me mortals. I’m not mad about it! Ah…” She paused to pull a golden feather pen from the air by her left ear and sign her own name under the plain and artful signatures already on the paper. Which is when Queen realized ‘Queen Dice’ was written plain as day in her handwriting on the thing.

“Did… Did Hell just forge my signature? What is this?” She didn’t whine, something she’d later be proud of, but the frail quality of her voice must have attracted the others focus.

“You made a deal, probably got the rights because Hell owns the casino and the casino owns you. It’s nothin’ to fuss about. All it means is you’ve witnessed the deal. Mine is the one that matters, I’m the one that doles out the deal.”

“She wanted…something interesting about herself?” Queen vaguely remembered the nervous request. Devil began to snicker, intensely excited about just how thrown off the other was. She wasn’t even worried or curious about the artful signature, what it meant about her casino’s manager.

“Indeed! Awful vague. But that’s quite the vicious caveat you gave! Didn’t realize you were so cruel.”

“I what?”

“Says it here, she is the thing that interests them most, but only until the vows are finalized. Lockin’ em into a loveless marriage, I’m impressed! How’d you even get her to agree?”

“I didn’t… She just…” Queen mimed shaking hands with someone, and right about there was when her brain kicked in. “I think she thought I was you? But I never... That’s not my true name, so why is it…”

“I knew it!” Devil slammed her free palm down on the desk, practically shaking with mirth.

“It’s not my name, my own tomb forged my stage name onto a magical contract. Fantastic. We’re having words about this!” Queen scolded the floor, notably though, the casino did nothing for it wasn’t repentant in the least. Devil cackled, thumping her fist to her desk. “That woman comes back angry; _you’re_ dealing with it!” Queen continued, ignoring Devil to twist on her heel and start for the door, chewing out the walls themselves.

It wasn’t the last contract, not by a long shot. It took Queen far longer to get used to losing her tongue, something taking it over for but a glimpse of time when Devil wasn’t around. Eventually Queen got fed up with losing control of herself enough Devil just agreed to answer to her call. The walls would shift, and Devil would be there, taking it over so Queen would keep her voice as hers. And eventually, other demons began associating her interacting with tables as a gamble in and of itself. They even learned that when Queen alone sealed the deal, her caveats were far crueler, more strict and barbarous in taking advantage of people too excited to be getting what they wanted than Devils ever had been.

Devil herself didn’t care, amused and enamored in the sly spirit far too much to give even half a thought to what had to be to give a spirit with no ties outside of her tomb to Hell power and influence over contracts.

***

Perhaps it was because Devil was distracted, rather forgetting the other side to her status, that _she_ crawled out of the depths of Hell. It was pure luck it was closing time and all the patrons had left when the doors swung open, nearly crushing Chips, who’d been locking the doors, into the wall.

Devil was the ruler of Hell, she wore the figurative crown, wielded the pitchfork that sang the eerie hum of Hell, and stomped out any and all peasants who vied for the spot. It was rare of course, because the utter decimation Devil left on those who so much as thought to try left Hell quaking with putrid glee.

Few survived, fewer still came back for more. One consumed by greed, by envy, the need to have and take all that she wanted and give nothing back, stripped of her name eons ago by a wrathful Devil, she was one of the few who still sometimes poked at that throne. She, the envious one, skin mottled green by the pressing depths of Hell that crushed her and her little spot of self-claimed rule, prowled into the building. Wheezy didn’t hesitate, sending Pirouette her way while hefting Queen up and practically launching behind the stage. Hopus working a bit of magic to keep the motion unnoticed.

“Don’t say _anything_ to that one out there. She ain’t anyone but Boss’s to deal with, got it?” Wheezy had hissed quietly, trusting the thick curtains and muffled acoustics to keep her voice lower still. Queen, a bit dazed, nodded. “Actually, just pretend you’re mute. If she talks to you, mime or something, anything to get her away. Maybe just stay in your room for a little while until she’s gone. She’s annoying as shit and if she catches wind Boss got you? We won’t hear the end of it for a year. She wants whatever Boss has. Been hounding Pirouette for a decade now. Pip and Dot just hide now. Mangosteen’s probably the only one she doesn’t hound and it’s because Mangosteen gets real creepy when she interacts.”

***

Honestly it might have been a bit of the casinos fault that Devil forgot some thought themselves tough enough to take on the ultimate Fallen. Queen had at first assumed the annoying demon—the first to do what the others knew as the old song and dance of challenging their Boss—was just being annoying and drunk. She’d had the gargoyle sailing like a boat over a sea of air into the recesses of Hell within three minutes of him walking in. The second one was a bit more slick, prodding for one of the lackeys to lead them up and to the office. They’d gotten far too close to Pirouette for Queens taste, and hardly a gesture of her hand later, the thing was feeding the furnace courtesy of Mangosteen. One smashed a table close to closing, and Queen had simply narrowed her eyes. The thing spat at Queen’s feet, and its head sailed into the race track all the way across the casino. Its body was crushed under one of the bishop pillars, and it was shoved into the dumpster to be incinerated.

Queen only figured out it was demons thinking the casino was proof Devil wasn’t fit to rule after the tenth attempt. By then, she was fed up with it and after locking herself away in her room for a day, she came out. The eleventh attempt ended in the entity pitying Devil for having to deal with such annoyances. The twelfth agreed that paperwork wasn’t that interesting and clearly running a casino would induce serious headaches no matter how useful it was for catching sinners. The thirteenth came to think the pitchfork wasn’t remotely as coveted as originally thought. And then the numbers dwindled immensely by the second month. None so much as squint at the tower where the throne was known to be by the end of the second month.

All of it handled without Devil ever so much as catching wind of it. She’d either been out in her Domain or out finding new things to bring to the casino.

So to be dragged behind the stage and basically told to sequester herself away was rather surprising to Queen. She’d handled their type just fine before. To be told not to, it got her attention faster than even the panic in Wheezy’s eyes.

Now, perhaps others would have been tempted to ignore the warning/request. Some would take it as a challenge or a curious mystery to solve. Queen told her to finish locking up and then vanished. Queen was not curious. She wasn’t tempted. She started the bath in her room, locked the door, got her casino to barricade the door, and debated between the rose petals and the jasmine to add to the bath water. Dead she may be, she still liked to pretend a bit like she could still enjoy all the things she did before the murder. And the heat of the bathwater was still felt by her, her soul still felt rested and recharged by the habits of old. She simply had the added benefit of not truly needing to dry off if she didn’t want to.

That, and as the casino gave her its eyes, she didn’t need to risk being in the same room as that thing.

***

Devil had but a moment to catch the flurry of emotions and panic from her lackeys before the office door was slammed open and the envious one strolled in. Her satyr lower half clicked like heels on the wood floor moments before turning to the carpet of the office.

“Months! Months its been since you _graced_ us with your presence!” The green-tinted woman bemoaned; toothy grin wide. Devil looked up at her from counting the days earnings. Something she thought she’d never do until finding the imps playing with the money instead of organizing it. Biting red eyes narrowed sharply, and the money was put to the side.

“I know.” Was all she said, far from amused. She hated the ones that were more durable. The ones that could always bounce back as well as Devil could. Slower for sure, taking years to heal what Devil did where it’d take a few weeks for Devil’s body to heal. But bounce back none the less. Honestly it truly was partially on her for just not having the desire to stomp them out of existence. It’d been so boring in the early centuries. Boring and tiresome and to have things challenging her was fun. It pleased her to show not only the rest, but Hell itself and herself that Fallen though she was, she was still far from helpless. She’d eventually settled for putting the fear of retaliation into them to deter the likes of the envious one from approaching her too often. But the envious one was exactly that.

Envious. Devious, and determined. Driven by the ravenous need to _have_. Every single time Devil found someone or something new, the envious one was there, begging for whatever or whoever it was. The envious one took the clearly hostile air, vitriolic voice, and sat down at the chair in front of the desk, looking around like she was in the presence of a dear old friend. Devils chest rumbled with a low growl.

“Oh how could you abandon your adoring fans like that! Why I don’t know how I survived without seeing your glorious face!” The bitterness in those words made Devil sneer. But the envious one merely continued smiling, confident as she was envious.

“Tell me.” Devil laced her fingers together, leaning forward on the desk. “Did you lose reading comprehension down in the pits? Because I’m confident there’s a sign out there with hours posted.” The envious one chuckled airily, leaning closer herself, resting a hand a mere hairs breadth from Devils own.

“I do believe I’m above such things, we’re friends after all!”

“I don’t recall giving you that privilege.” Hell was wreathed in fire but Devil was a tundra at that moment. Icy and annoyed.

“Yes well, I’ve made such a journey, you wouldn’t turn me away so callously without showing me around would you? I’d hate to have to disappoint your fans in my humble little corner.” Which, in layman’s terms meant she’d get her little piece of Hell Devil gave to her—to shut her up—riled up and annoying. She’d have all manner of demons and souls parading around in the casino loudly shouting their discontent to any unfortunate enough to be around. Something Queen would be annoyed and confused by. Something Devil felt hindered her current game to hear a song. Thus, something she’d have to dissuade from happening. She’d played the game before though, the older one, and tightly gestured to the door.

“I’m not stopping you from looking around. But if it says don’t enter, _don’t enter.”_ She let the full weight of her power seep into her tone, saturating the air, drenching each word in a definitive threat. The envious one nodded amiably—Devil was not fooled—and stood, swiping the glass from Devils’ desk, gesturing a thanks as if Devil had offered the drink, and sauntered out. She’d be back, likely to start begging for something. Devil waited for her to close the door and braced herself for the inevitable return. Sending word to the rest to just humor her until she got bored and left.

***

When the envious one approached Hopus, Hopus loudly declared she had a new trick for the other, and hopped into her top hat. The top hat followed the vanishing act post haste. When she got Wheezy’s attention, she gleefully kept one heavy hand on Wheezy’s shirt, complimenting her on the new attire. Wheezy just told her to speak to Boss. The envious one pout, hand tightening until Wheezy grimaced. It was Mangosteen that came to her rescue, quite aware her towering, powerful physique intimidated more than intrigued the envious one.

“Boss said look, don’t touch.” Mangosteen spoke as if relaying a message, far too broad grin and wide eyes boring into the envious one. A green hand let go, a pout from painted black lips spread down the envious one’s face, but Mangosteen only continued to stare. Pirouette, who’d been hoping his golden uniform would blend in with the slot machines as he tried sneaking by, was the next target and the excuse to escape Mangosteen.

“Pirouette! My favorite daydream! Why don’t you show a gal around?” Pirouette inwardly cringed hard enough his actual muscles twinged. Outwardly he nodded, heading straight for the track. It was his hope that Phear would interest the envious one, but no such luck. Phear was suspiciously absent from the office. The envious one spent more time lamenting how she couldn’t always have Pirouette by her side to look at and admire. Pirouette made no reply to such comments and the moment he spied Chimes, he gestured to the short woman, and made a remark about being needed elsewhere.

Chimes however, was prepared for such a thing. She stood beside her section, the claw machines and lighter games aimed for the squeamish gamblers and just _stared._ The envious one eventually edged away, not keen on the silent gaze devoid of any fear of whatever the envious one could threaten her with. She came across the bar, plopped down, heedless of the tall man trying to clean the bar top, and began eying the various drinks.

Martini was old. Had been around Devil for quite a while, and he wasn’t new to the envious one either. He knew well and good getting her shitfaced was the worst they could do. So, he drew the womans attention to the weaker wines. He’d never been so glad they kept the truly hard liquors behind the counter instead of displayed than in that moment. She instead began trying to chat up Martini, and it was about then that Martini realized he should have bailed to the kitchen. If there was ever a loose lipped lackey of the Devil, it was Martini. He would blame it on the liquor sloshing in him at all hours of the day. He and his fellow alcoholics, both women who’d slipped into the food storage room hoping the envious one wouldn’t care to see heaping mounds of citrus or potatoes. And if worst came, they’d have gone into the freezer. They weren’t exactly mortal and would gladly take the agony of having to be defrosted than face that woman.

“Such a brilliant place, I can’t recall our dearest ruler ever being so keen to the finer things! And what design! I could get lost in the roulette tables as much as I could in your eyes.” The envious one winked over her glass of Moscato. Martini nodded, wondering if acting truly blitzed out would work. “Oh but really, how did she do it? I could have sworn she wanted nothing of this sort! Was it truly just her?”

“Boss had debtors who owed. She called in debts.” Martini replied, trusting that was the safest response. It wasn’t like he was lying either, and it was entirely believable that Boss would just drag others into doing stuff she had no inclination towards. Hell, even Martini and the rest had been a bit shocked at how willing their Boss was to go as far as she had with the place. They’d all thought it would get a minor face-lift, some upgrades here or there to maximize the chance dumb mortals would stroll into the spiders web. But other than that, nothing would really be done. Then they watched Manager perched prim on the edge of the stage, remarking all sorts of things. How it was wiser to go big, but not gaudy. And instead of scoffing or waving it off, or even waving off the requests of the designers, she went through. She’d get a list of requests from Manager, about finding what was doing well in the casinos out in the world, what was attracting attention in the streets. Back alley gamblers were the biggest reason for the card and die tables.

“Really? For a den of vices she really went above and beyond! I feel like a noble in a castle in here! The building didn’t always look like this then? Where did she acquire it?”

“Out there.” Martini answered, fervently trying to reason that knowing the building had in fact been upgraded was fine.

“She’s finally gotten into collecting buildings instead of pretty things, hmm?”

“Can’t say. Boss does what Boss wants.” Martini casually glanced up, hopeful their Boss would give him an out. He was confident the tight answers were only making it worse. Only making the woman more curious. He got it when there was a mighty crash in the back room. He excused himself hurriedly, sprint to the back, thinking his drunk friends had just ruined the night prepping. And instead found the pans fallen from the pegs on the walls. Sparing a glance up once more, he breathlessly thanked Manager.

With no one around, the envious one left the empty glass on the counter and decided to explore for herself. She was aware it wasn’t easy to lure Devil’s lackeys away, having only been successful one time. And the one she got grew boring rather quickly, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t try still. The image of having all those who pledged to Devil following her instead? It made her practically drool. She wanted everything that wretch on the throne had. Even more, she wanted to chase the other to a shabby little corner, leave her bereft of even the small things she’d collected in Hell. She’d argue that it wasn’t out of malice of course, simply that she felt she could do better. She wasn’t prideful, not by much, but she was confident. She’d been down in the lower corners; she knew how the festering could fester more. How to bring hope and then mercilessly crush it. But Devil cared little for actual suffering. If anything she’d see a group of sinners starting up a party with scraps that Hell collected, shrug, and leave them to enjoy themselves. Gone were the days when she would prowl the lands, crushing and stomping out all in sight, tearing souls to pieces, leaving no hope of escaping Hell. She’d been truly glorious then, but her wrath settled, and she’d gotten boring.

The envious one dreamed of a day when she could stroll about Hell, amassing all the lovely souls Hell had to offer instead of waiting for some wanderer to get too close to her corner. Hell, even Devil could shift herself into a far more pleasing appearance every once in a while. And wasn’t _that idea delicious. _She wasn’t sure what she’d do outside of bask in being surrounded by lovely things, but then, she supposed Devil wasn’t doing a lot either, holed up in the casino of all things.

The very building she was exploring as thoroughly as she could. She was _sure_ Devil was hiding things. Wealth, a harem perhaps? Maybe a new means of torturing the masses, it could be any number of things, and the envious one wanted whatever it was. If Devil knew she knew, it might tempt Devil into just handing the thing over, especially if it was something pathetic. And of course, as she found a nondescript door tucked away behind stage, she figured it was a start. Keenly ignoring the “do not enter” sign, she used a bit of her strength, and pressed on down the stairs, leaving a broken door handle in her wake.

It was loud, pipes hissing steam and the near deafening crackle of hellfire that illuminated the room. Each stair her hooves settled on groaned and bent, as if about to break. She wasn’t keen of falling, but the railing bent under her hand, almost noodle like in its inability to support her weight. She sped down them, leaping down the last five stairs and landing on the surprisingly clean floor with a hearty clack. Behind the stairs was nothing but a wall of concrete, the end of the basement clearly, or perhaps this was the boiler room and there was more, she’d find out later she supposed, if it looked interesting. Currently, it was bland. Exactly how she envisioned a regular old furnace/boiler room to look.

And then she heard something. Her pointed ears perked, and she carefully clicked her way over to where the sound originated. It was the furnace, and under the loud hiss of steam and hellfire, she could hear it. Screams and pleas. Getting closer, but not close enough for the hellfire sparking around the thing to catch on her, she listened intently to the sound. A few demons she knew to be so only because they plead for their lord to spare them, which of course, was Devil. But there was one, crying for a queen, begging to see her, to explain, to drag her in with him. Which was odd, she couldn’t recall any calling Devil their Queen, but she supposed it was one of the mortals who came in. Perhaps one who’d insulted Hells’ fallen leader. She wasn’t too sure, but it was interesting to hear none the less.

“Boss said not to go into places with the sign.” Wheezy’s voice was powerful, enhanced by the hellfire burning away in her own body, it easily cut through the noises below and sent the Envious one skittering where she stood on the slick floor in surprise. She got out a paltry excuse of not seeing the sign, laughing at the frown on the others deep tan face. Interestingly, when Wheezy came down the stairs, they didn’t so much as bend.

Before she could ask, she was ushered out, both quite aware if she refused, it would be plenty easy for Wheezy to fetch her master and the fun would be over faster. The stairs didn’t bend, but they did creak an unholy cacophony of noises, like the building itself was voicing its displeasure at her being there.

The door was closed, Wheezy muttered about needing to order a new handle, and then she was escorted off stage and warned not so subtly to stay out of places not meant for guests. She waved her hand lazily, blew a kiss at Wheezy, and sauntered off to find more. Which was how she found the restrooms, and a full length mirror situated in the ladies room. She didn’t have to glance around, no one else was near, she simply stepped in.

***

Queen watched the water drain from the tub, already having scooped the petals out before doing so. Of course, wet petals liked to stick, and as such she couldn’t exactly pay attention to things that weren’t getting jasmine off her hands. Then again, she figured the others had it handled. Martini was the only one who seemed to sweat, but that was common and why she’d offered a spot of assistance. Petals removed, robe securely wrapped around her, she idly wondered if she should revisit old memories and scrounge for the curlers she once had to put in her hair before death sealed her current appearance in place. Choosing against it, she left her hair a damp wavy mess, she’d fix it up later, for now, the illusion of years ago was nice.

She could almost remember so long ago when she’d wash the makeup of the day off, preen herself just a little in the vanity, and then go about planning for the next day. She stood before her wardrobe, the gramophone playing a smooth little saxophone number she liked to listen to when her throat was feeling strained. While she couldn’t actually physically put them on, she could at least choose the one that she’d wear. Her purple gown had been recreated when she’d been working on cleaning her own room of dust and decades. It got the preferred spot on the door, her go to gown, her utter favorite.

The building groaned. A deep, foundation shaking rolling noise, like the entire place was settling at once. And while settling for those with flesh was nice, meant they were relaxed, that isn’t what it meant for the casino.

She froze, one hand loosely wrapped in the sleek violet skirt, the other around the hanger of a red dress. Turning, she caught sight of what should have been her reflection in the vanity, which was instead the one they’d warned her about. She stared blankly at the thing leaning elbows on the vanity’s reflection, looking at her like a cat watching a particularly juicy looking bird. Ever so slowly, she dropped the gowns, uncaring of the red one falling to the ground, half draped out of the wardrobe, and listened as the rafters creaked in pure agitation.

“What a pretty little thing you are!” The one in the mirror sighed. Queen sidestepped towards the door, brows dipping lower, furrowed in confusion. “Oh don’t leave! Let me admire you!” The other cried, reaching a hand out of the mirror, into her room. Queen paused, slowly raising a hand to point to herself. She could see herself in the mirror, behind the other, confused and lost and vulnerable, swathed in nothing but a fluffy robe. The mirror rippled like disturbed water, the other began to emerge.

“So that’s the hidden gem of this place, what did she do to win a pretty little bird like you?” The green skinned woman mused, fully out of the mirror now. Queen pressed herself to the wall, chest rising and falling rapidly with her distress.

“Oh it’s not fair, first she gets Pirouette, then she gets the twins, and now you? Honestly! She’s so greedy!” The woman stepped closer, hooves pressing into the plush carpet. “What has she done to cage you little bird?” She grew closer still, and Queen rapidly backstepped towards the wardrobe. The walls let out another groan. “Don’t run, why, I may not look it but I’m quite powerful myself! What does that nasty beast have on you, hmm?” The intruder purred, reaching a hand out to her as if it were a peace offering. Queen shook her head, eyes darting towards the bed, then back to the intruder who was closer still.

“I could offer freedom she’s taken from you. I’m much nicer too! Surely you’ve seen her tantrums, how horrid they are!” She paused, watching Queen’s brows furrow further. Queen shook her head once more, back pressing into the clothing. “Are you who this casino is for?” Queen rapidly shook her head, crawling onto the bed, throwing herself to the other side, as if the mattress was the perfect defense. “A little side treat then? How callous of her, you’re much too pretty to lock away!” The other gestured to the heavy door, sure that the place was a prison. “I’d give you the adoration you deserve! I’d shower you with gold and finery, make you _shine._”

And Queen waited for her to begin crawling over the bed towards her to dart for the very door the other believed locked. She threw it open and vanished into the hall, quickly followed by the Envious one. There was a brief moment when she couldn’t see the other, and then she only saw a heavy chest. Mangosteen hefted her up by her head, heedless of the surprised shriek.

“Boss wants you to know we’re closed now.” Mangosteen’s grip tightened severely, sealing the woman’s jaw shut and almost cracking some of her teeth from the force. She carried the struggling Envious one down the stairs. The Envious one briefly caught sight of white vanishing into Devil’s office and then she was hauled downstairs, and practically tossed out the front door. The door slammed shut, a heavy bolt slid into place, and she was left dazed, head aching, on the heated cave floor. Through her fury at being mistreated by some lowly sinner, she vowed to return later. If Devil wouldn’t be civil, then neither would she, and she’d been practicing, feeding on the souls around her, indulging herself.

***

Queen stared at Devil, and Devil stared back, trying to wrap her brain around the disheveled appearance.

“Quit bringing your troubles to my casino.” Queen eventually settled on, once she was sure the thing she inwardly vowed to crush the next she appeared was gone.

“Your casino?”

“My tomb.” Queen countered, choosing to linger just a bit longer to be certain the thing wasn’t coming back. “Whatever the case, I don’t care for roaches and expect better pest control next time around. I might not be so nice if there’s ever a round two.” There was a hearty bite to the last part, a heavy warning about just who the building favored. One backed up by the very walls around them as Queen left, a whirl of white.

Devil immediately decided the tower needed her presence, and as water rushed audibly above her head, she bailed. She tried to take comfort in knowing no matter how cunning or creative Queen could be, she was still just a soul and couldn’t possibly do enough damage to truly anger the Envious one. Even so, the lackeys were swiftly warned not to let the other near Queen and she left it at that. Besides, if she truly did anything upsetting, Devil was perfectly happy to get violent. Durable or no, it wasn’t her who’d lost her name, it was the one stomping around outside the casino. And even if she found it distasteful to take down those who’d only get back up and whine—though that mostly stemmed from the days of old, when boredom was a constant threat and the promise of some little upstart believing themselves to be anywhere in her league was the sole distraction—she’d do it anyway.

She wasn’t fond of knowing her orders were not only being ignored, but that the upstart went after Queen.

***

Queen had shaken her head at the remark about tantrums, because she genuinely believed she’d never seen them. She couldn’t recall the other ever getting any angrier than she herself had been. But she supposed, everyone had to have a bad day.

She just detested how Devils’ bad days meant the multi-limbed beast tore a slot machine from its bolts and threw the thing at imps, the cause of her ire. The workers scattered, throwing themselves behind doors, into the back area if they were close enough. Queen _could_ get angry herself. Could get the casino to bat Devil into the timeout known as Hell by everyone else. But Queen was curious, and being dead had an unfortunate side effect of dulling her sense of self preservation down by impressive degrees. While Devil screamed and worked her anger out in a display of impressive power, Queen reclined regally on her vanity chair she’d taken from her own room, watching with half-lidded, unreadable eyes.

Devil caught sight of her eventually, steam pouring from her frame, hellfire dancing in the air around. Her serrated teeth gnashed, red obscuring her vision, but the scent of jasmine wafted over, clearing a piece of her mind.

“Oh don’t let me stop you. Nothing entices me more than furious displays of needless destruction. It’s a turn on really.” Queen’s head tilted, resting on her propped up upper arm. Devil paused even her deep, ragged breaths. “Are you taking requests?” The painted lips, in that smile that was far from heated or sultry, leaning more into glacial territory, got the clear piece to start stomping out the fires of rage.

“Because you know what would truly win my heart?” Queen vanished, reappearing right before the woman who still held one of the heavy lounge couches above her head like it was a feather. Her hands slid softly along Devil’s arms, up further until she was forced to lean against the other and stare up at her, hands meeting behind a heated neck. Soft and relaxed against tense and strained. Her lips hovered just below Devil’s own.

“_You fixing everything you broke and going outside to take your anger out on a rock.”_

Then Queen was back in her chair, the couch slipped out of lax hands, and those not cowering in horror were treated to Devil’s horn impaling a couch, ripping its back open and being showered with fluff while Queen started tallying everything that needed fixing. Devil wasn’t sure how to feel about seeing the casino spit an imp covered in ink that’d ruined several of Devils papers out into a pit Hell formed just for the little shit. Wheezy almost died a second death when Devil later asked if Queen really did like seeing displays of strength. She’d only been able to give a great shrug and get out the door before she’d had a tiny breakdown right outside the tower.

***

Devil actually forgot about the envious one after a time of nothing happening. Mostly because her pitchfork had been going missing recently, the thing taking to wandering away when she wasn’t looking. Usually that was a sign Hell was borrowing it for a spot of time, something she had no control over. Hell could take its pitchfork any time it wanted as far as Devil cared. It was always returned just fine, and always before any trouble came her way that required its not so tender mercy. The thing seemed to have half a mind of its own, the other half solely Hell’s. Seeing as she had essentially inherited the place, she was disinclined to try and take from it what didn’t totally belong to her. Which arguably is what kept Hell firmly on her side and under her rule. She’d seen what happened to unwanted who laid a hand on the thing, an inferno not even she could match in her most furious that seared them from the very fabric of the world. Pondering on its location was answered with it returning to her side in one moment, and the next, the entrance to her tower bursting open.

Her memory was jogged quite violently upon the others return. She appeared in the office, approaching like a foreign king approached another noble, something that made Devils lips curl.

“I propose a game.” The envious one declared loudly. Devil, reclined on her second throne, sat up straight. This was new, which meant her full focus was needed.

“I will wear your appearance, and if I manage to get any of your servants to truly believe I’m you, I get to keep that one!” Devil’s blank gaze spoke volumes, so the envious one continued. “Think of it as me clearing the less observant clutter from you! To make room for better things! I mean you’ve got the casino, you practically have the best thing in the world in your palm! Won’t you humor me at least?” 

For a moment Devil swore she heard the pipes hiss above her head, but her mouth worked before her brain and she replied.

“Deal.” It was only when the whole building seemed to crunch in feeling close to a thousand judgmental eyes glowering at her, that she tacked her own bit on before shaking hands. “But you have until closing. Which is three hours from now.”

“You can’t spill this to your toys either!” The envious one sing songed. Devil hissed, crushing the hand in her grip, letting fire coil around the other until she was looking at a mirror image of herself. The other winked at her and swiftly exited the room. Devil waited a moment before taking the shape of a deep violet imp and scampering out to watch. She couldn’t spill, but she could certainly observe. She was confident she’d lose not a single worker, not with the smug grin on the others face that simply didn’t match Devils own cocky sneer.

Until it did, and she watched the other mimic her prowl, and the cobwebs in her mind were brushed away to helpfully remind her the envious always watched, always observed, finding ways to stalk and hound until she got even a piece of what she wanted. Her little imp claws dug into the ground as she felt sweat bead under the coat of fur. The other paused at the base of the stairs to simply watch. Watch others catch sight of her, of thick black curls, and make a wide berth around her, as if she truly was the ruler of Hell.

Then she was off, her target clear.

***

Wheezy, distracted with talking rather adoringly about the finer smokes of the world, felt the heat first. She turned, confused but unsurprised to see Boss out and about. But she couldn’t recall doing something that would warrant the other approaching her. 

“Got something I want you to take care of.” Boss spoke, her voice a tad bit off but nothing uncommon for one who sometimes shrieked herself hoarse in her darker fits of anger.

“Sure th—” Wheezy cut off mid word, jaw falling open as Manager appeared, scooping up an imp of all things and hugging the ever-loving hell out of it. She almost appeared to be trying to smother it in her chest from how tight the hug was. But her face was scarily open, a vast difference from the smooth, cool but friendly one she wore when on the floor.

“What are you doing! It’s gonna bite your heart out!” She went past Boss, a tiny piece of her mind smacking the ‘hold up and think’ button like a hungry rat trained to hit buttons for cheese. Manager pout, actually pout, and only clutched the squirming imp closer. “What…” She paused, looking at Manager glance nervously past her and back. And that’s about when it started clicking. There had never been a time Manager showed any level of fear towards Boss. Certainly never a time she’d dared pick up the imps. Oh she tossed food their way and sometimes pat them when it was requested, but she never picked them up, having seen what their teeth and claws could do.

Manager kept her pout, removing the imp from her tight grip and holding it up like one would a stuffed animal. She remained silent as she rubbed her cheek against the bright red cheeks of the imps, as if trying to show how little she thought it would actually do to her by sticking her face right next to it. Then she pressed a kiss to its little temple, and hidden in the fur, that coy, mischievous grin flashed.

“There a reason you’re ignoring me?” The dangerous edge was close, near spot on, and Wheezy might have been fooled had Manage not been there. Or she supposed, had the Casino not had a mean streak and a habit of doing all in its power to give to Manager whatever she wanted. If it was to meddle in the games between upper demons and the ruler of Hell, she had no actual ability or desire to stop it.

“Ah you know how it is with Manager! Still wet behind the ears. Be glad it ain’t chomping off fingers!” Wheezy replied bashfully at first, then scoldingly at her Manager. Which felt odd, and she swiftly decided she wanted to do as little of that as possible.

Wheezy had seen things, being one of the few allowed beside the Devil herself to wander and enforce and wreak mayhem when fancy struck. But that tiny little smile half hidden in fur, those nails carving into the tiny little imps chest…

She felt true, unadulterated fear hit her.

Manager was playing and Wheezy didn’t know her hand. She couldn’t tell if it was weaker than whoever was playing with Devil. She _liked_ the ghost, liked the fun the other brought and by her Boss did she and the rest not want that being taken away.

“Real sorry but you’ll have to find someone else. I’ve gotta babysit.” Wheezy tossed back, now searching for any slight flaws to show her who was wearing her Boss’s face. But it was impossible, the false front too pristine.

“Alright, you then!” And Manager paled, once again clutching the ‘imp’ tight to her chest, squeezing the air it had gotten in right back out, backing away from the grey hand stretched out to her.

“No can do! I know yer real busy but surely you remember what happened last week! She’s only just recovered! I bet Chimes will gladly hear you out!” Wheezy intercepted. It was mean to send the imposter the way of Chimes, especially since she could see the glint of a smile in the rafters. Chimes was already clued into it as well. Manager was efficient as she was calculative. She ushered Manager away, desperate to figure out what the end game was. Manager however, evidently wasn’t about that, because she shifted direction towards Martini.

The poor man wasn’t ready for Manager to reach her arm out and up, pulling the hyper confused man towards her by his vest until the imp in her other arm was squashed between Martini’s chest and Manager’s. She mouthed a thanks after a moment, moving her far too close face away and plopping the little imp down to tie Martini’s bowtie around its neck like a frilly little ribbon. She fluffed the bow, adjusted it on the stunned imps neck, and returned it to her arms, held so it was squashed against her cold body. Martini stuttered and stammered, something about uniforms and being scolded the last time he’d lost his tie. But he never turned to look at the false Devil, never acknowledged the rather confused liar. Manager waved him off, seemingly pleased with herself.

Wheezy grabbed her arm, hauling her away as Martini turned to the other bartenders and spoke to them in only a way longtime friends could. Delivering a silent message that made Rum hiccup and Whiskey squint at the imposter.

“Oh there she is, Chimes! Come here!” Wheezy called out once they’d gotten into the claw section. She was now absolutely certain it wasn’t Boss following her. The last time they’d tried such a stunt, she’d taken it as a sign of disrespect and swiftly reminded all of them how terrible an idea it was. Chimes descended, landing lightly on her feet, staring up at their pseudo-boss with blank, soulless eyes.

“See t’ helpin her out, huh? Gotta take care of Manager, think she was hit harder than we thought.” And Wheezy was swiftly carting Manager and the little imp away.

Chimes stared at ‘Devil’, and ‘Devil’ stared back.

“I’ve eaten twelve souls today.” Chimes said, voice echoing and empty. She watched the other wordlessly spin on her heel and walk away, and from the rafters above soft cackles filled the air.

***

“What’s the rub?” Wheezy hissed after escaping into the stalls, confident the acrid scent would keep the other away, and if not that then the threat of angry horses who disliked intruders.

“I’ve found my favorite imp is all.” Manager replied, and the imps toes wiggled fruitlessly for the ground five feet below.

“Is that really an imp? How do I know you aint learnin’ from Pip and Dot and training the little bastards?”

“She’s lovely isn’t she? A bit dirty here or there, doing things she _shouldn’t_, but delightful none the less!” Wheezy could have cried, she really could have, just broken down right there.

“I’m beggin’ ya Manager, please tell me you aint stuffin Boss’s face into your chest and smearing makeup all over her.”

“I’m an honest sinner, I can do no such thing.” Wheezy, well, wheezed. And the little imp’s eye twitched, its teeth bared and the heat in the area spiked. Manager, unseen by the little eyes of her shapeshifted boss, grinned a frankly _nasty grin._ Pressed close to the cool body, it was impossible, even in the din of a live track, to miss it when a delicate, light lullaby brushed into the air. Devils body went limp, her eyes went wide, her ears perked right up, and Manager hummed away. If Wheezy was blind, she could think it was Manager trying to soothe her Boss’s ruffled feathers. But she wasn’t, she saw that nasty grin, and she knew well and good Manager was enacting her own punishment for whatever Devil had done and wasn’t keen on ending it so soon.

“We have time to kill Ms. Wheezy, care to demonstrate what happens to surly outsiders who think they can toy with what doesn’t belong to them?” Manager spoke lilting, keeping a musical tone to her voice to keep the drooping imp sated. And really, Wheezy couldn’t find fault in that. Manager had gotten good at the inner workings, but wasn’t a professional yet. Wasn’t seasoned like Wheezy was. It wasn’t exactly a light-hearted game they were playing either. Not with how keen Manager was to spreading word a distasteful fella had wandered in and wanted to play pretend wearing their beloved Boss’s face.

“Lead the way Manager”

***

The humming died when the false Devil approached again after running into Hopus and having no clue whether it would be too out of place for her to just smack the magician away with no pitchfork or hellfire. She’d escaped only because a drunk had thrown up at the swift display of colors from the cloths spilling from Hopus’ tear ducts. She couldn’t help but feel she was being watched, but chalked it up to the sinful sorts desperate to avoid the scariest thing in the building. And wasn’t _that_ a thrill for her! To be looked at and _feared_. It wasn’t the same fear either! _No_, it was a sharp, cloying, desperate fear.

She had two hours left, somehow losing a full one in the horrifying mysticism that was Hopus. The worst of it was Hopus did such things to _everyone_, so it wasn’t like she was treating her potential boss any different. She picked her next target, her favorite, and made past the card tables for the roulette tables where she found Pirouette and the manager. Wheezy was elsewhere, but that was fine. The manager still clutched an imp of all things to her, which was a travesty, really imps were filthy gremlins that were best suited for clean-up duties and staying out of sight. Putting a bow on it did it no favors either.

“There you are!” She called out, watching gleefully as those at the table froze or locked up. In the case of one mortal, she just stared at who she believed to be the Devil for a moment, lifted her glass of what must have been hard vodka, downed the thing in one big gulp, and slid her chips to her chosen bet. Pirouette glanced up at the other for but a breath and returned his handsome gaze to the far smaller manager.

“Would you like to spin this one Manager?” He asked with his smooth, tenor voice the Envious one could listen to for decades to come.

“Get someone else to do it, I need you to run an errand.” ‘Devil’ interrupted.

“She must learn.” Pirouette returned, and the Manager spun. Heat washed over the table, but not enough for the blitzed woman to not throw her hands in the air and cheer, cackling as she hoarded her winnings like a dragon. A demon beside her stared at her in adoration. The imp squint at the victorious mortal, then tried to squint up only to get a kiss planted right on its forehead. The envious one scowled in disgust. Pirouette grew pale, but his stance was tall and loose. “Smooth as can be, Manager. But our time is up, it is time for you to see Ms. Chips about how we are doing in the vault I believe.”

“I’ll take her.”

Vivid golden eyes almost appeared to glare at the pseudo boss under golden lashes.

“You are quite the fright, the little imp can escort Manager, no need to bother yourself or stress dear Manager out.” Pirouette would have just about cowered had the ensuing malicious glare come from his true boss. But his true boss currently dangled from Managers arms like a limpet, probably basking in the cool air the spirit gave off. He’d seen Wheezy do it late nights when she graced them in the employee rooms. So he just broke into a nervous sweat, still unnerved with facing off against someone far above his strength until Queen playfully bumped her hip against his thigh. She waved to the table, got called a ‘nice lady with the ugly dog’ by the drunk lady, and slid into the crowd.

The envious one tried to follow, but Wheezy was on her, asking about where the shipment for wine was because they were running low and Rum was starting to get grumpy. It took half an hour to bumble her way through that with enough growling and rising temperatures to scare them away, but what truly got her was not _once _did they call her Boss. If even _one_ called her that and meant it, treated her like their Boss, did what she asked as if it were the Devil ordering them, she’d have them. She supposed the easiest one would be the Manager, if only because she appeared the newest, the most timid, and the most unsure.

She found the manager listening attentively to Chips, a cute little number just as much in the envious ones radar as Pirouette. She loved the cute dimples and bubbly personality. It would be _wonderful_ to have that at her beck and call. Chips barely paused to catch a breath as she listed what was needed, what was low, and all while showing off little parlor tricks with her sleight of hand. The Manager and the little imp watched attentively. Or the Manager did, but the filthy ball of fur seemed quite content to be a veritable lap cat, its stubby little horns no discomfort for the one leaning over it as it stared half dazed at the quick hands.

“Enough of that, I’ve got stuff I need her looking at.” ‘Devil interrupted, reaching to grab the Manager off the stool she sat on. Chips launched forward, hauling the woman close with a nervous laugh.

“Aw, that ain’t nice! How’s she gonna learn to swindle souls from demons if she ain’t taught how? That aint swell of ya!” Chips stammered, far more nervous about the imp and its mouth near her fingers than the one who frankly should have had all her fear. A rumble that hurt for her to make erupted into the air, and Chips paled considerably under the sun kissed tan of her skin. ‘Devil’ loomed closer, a vicious gleam in her gaze.

A thunderous crash, startled cries from the bar, and Chips was declaring she was needed elsewhere, that she’d get Manager to the next lesson, and ‘Devil’ was shoved towards the scene of the incident. A man screaming about how the table had moved, spilling his food everywhere. His date was checking the table, remarking about its surprising stability for something that had just launched food ten feet away. Then Chimes appeared from above and there was a different kind of screaming and yet another half hour was wasted. An hour to go, and by that point the envious one was suspicious. She prowled the floor, ruffled feathers soothed at the nervous tension that followed her presence.

She found the manager wandering around the stage area where a little band played away. And while she would have loved to talk to the pretty little thing, she was interrupted by Martini bumbling about a severe problem down in the tracks that needed her attention. The hellhorses had been spooked by something—that something some bet was the sinister twins based on the frankly creepy giggles from the rafters high above—and she was needed to help Phear. Her mood festered, rankling further after a horse nearly kicked her, spitting violet fire at her like a rabid beast.

Less than twenty minutes left. She seethed, lashing out at Phear, storming up the stairs, confident the game was rigged and determined to find how it had been. Which meant she had to find the true Devil. The office was empty, the tower was vacant, and the gilded halls of the casino left her more dazed than anything. Eventually she caught sight of the manager near a poker table, and she stormed over, thunderous in her rage. The imp perked up, almost smirking at her, and she felt the last vestiges of her patience begin to slip away. One of the demons growled at her, annoyed as her presence sent the manager stumbling back, reaching for the imp as if it would comfort her.

“’Ey now! Got less ‘n five minutes! I’d like t’ enjoy it wit’out some braindead slug muckin up me game!” Another demon huffed, glowering her way.

“_Just who do you think you’re talking to?” _She felt her vocal chords strain under the pressure her anger pressed into her voice, and while a few cowered away as before, most did not. There weren’t many demons left, no mortals anymore.

“A moron.” Another demon snapped, serpentine glare far too irate for someone face to face with the Devil, unless… She locked eyes with the imp.

“Ain’t no way Manager actin like that around th’ real deal.”

“Unless its another weird game of theirs, sure hope it ain’t. Whatever it is, thanks t’ you we gotta come back tomorrow to finish our game!”

“You! You cheated! You lied!” She shot her hand out, pointing at the imp dangling in the managers arms, straining to see her from the tight grip.

“Look at this loon accusing managers chest o’ cheatin” A demon sloshed on his fifteenth cup of moonshine laughed.

She let out an enraged cry and launched over the table. Powerful hands caught her outstretched wrists. She was dragged across the table, stunned and blinded by her unfamiliar forms hair. She screamed, lashing out with her feet. The imp hissed, heat spilling from it at the pathetic sight she made. It was plopped down on the table, confused as to why it was now face to back with Queen as she strode to follow Mangosteen and Wheezy as they strained to drag her in her violent thrashing. She waited for the other to settle for a moment, confused at the far too vague stare the manager gave.

From her dress, she pulled a trinket out. Pressing closer, close enough the soothing cool wave of air brushed over the heated woman, she entranced the envious one with her gaze, bright and unreadable. Then she pointed to a little sign by the door, one that displayed hours, and held the trinket up as she leaned close, brushed unfamiliar bangs aside, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

It was a clock displaying one-minute past closing.

She leaned away, a mysterious smile on her lips, then there was a sharp crack and her head was snapping back painfully. Her body, limp with shock and pain and panic, was far easier for the two bouncers to practically launch off the cliff. Wheezy dust her hands off, turned, closed the door, and immediately fell into a panicked heap.

“Boss’s gonna kill us.” She moaned into her hands as Pip and Dot congratulate Chips on her pristine aim.

“That was fun!” Mangosteen cheered, uncaring of Wheezy’s panic. Pirouette nervously shuffled, looking at the imp that was shaking on the table. Chips just about shook out of her boots, muttering how it was habit, she couldn’t help it. Chimes laughed, unnerving Phear who leaned a bit away, already debating just barricading herself in the stables and hoping for the best. The tipsy bartenders, in perfect synch, downed a shot of moonshine from below the counter.

Queen said nothing, shooting a glare at the imp, the message clear. Games that put the flow of the casino at risk were not welcome and wouldn’t be tolerated so nicely the next time. She would have been angrier had she not already gotten her revenge in the way of bowties and lasting marks. She was gone back to her room before Devil even started shifting back. Devil, unsure of just how to recover from being seen by her thankfully loyal to a fault lackeys getting the lap dog treatment, stayed silent, a bit cowed by the warning. 

“Boss.. y’got… got lipstick on ya… don’t” Rum hiccuped, then continued. “Don’t let trigger fingers seeee… ha…” She slurred, and Devil scrubbed at her face, smearing the wine red lip mark.

***

The door opened but Devil didn’t look up. She didn’t have to. She knew that smooth glide anywhere, instead she remained leaned back in her chair, forehead wrinkled from how her brows furrowed. The smell of jasmine washed over her nose like a balm, clearing it of the thick stench of Hell within a few deep inhales. She only opened her eyes when the heels stopped right beside her chair, when cool air slipped around her.

“Do you ever brush this?” Orange watched Queen watch her hair, the thick mane practically devouring the chair she sat on.

“Tried, it eats them.” She answered easily. “Sometimes I’ll get em back.”

“Could you at least floss it then? It’s a tad disturbing to have an imp skull staring at me.”

“Ahhh dammit.” Devil hissed, twisting to see her curls coiled like a python around what remained of some poor imp. Perhaps it was the one that was supposed to bring her the days orders. Much to Queen’s horror and Devils annoyance, the skull vanished into the void black hair with Devil’s movement, even the glint of white bone unseen barely a twitch later. But then, that reminded her of what she’d been brooding over, and she angled her gaze to the other.

“If I wanna hear a song am I gonna have to turn into an imp and let you put a bow on me?” She hadn’t meant it to sound annoyed, she’d wanted to go for intrigued. It was her luck that the other got that and paused just a hair to remember a month ago, and snort rather gracelessly.

“I’ll hum for you any time you ask now, you earned it when you made me laugh.” Queen shifted so she perched on the edge of Devil’s desk, papers set nicely off to the side.

“Not sing?”

“Darling, no one has heard me sing since I was helped off the mortal coil. Hum, perhaps toss a few light songs here or there, but not what I could do when I wasn’t a rotting corpse in a dark basement.” Queen let her weight rest on the palm closest to Devil, amused at the grumble.

“There something I gotta do? I’ve tried everything and it took wearing a stupid bow to get a tune!”

“Are you asking for a hint? Here I thought you were a master of games.” Devil hissed, slumping forward so she could rest her head on the closest thigh. Her position was crunched and mildly uncomfortable, but the cool air was _nice_.

“Poor little Devil,” Queen teased, curling closer and rubbing her gloved fingers on the exposed tip of Devils ear, the very one that began to flush with color. “Such a terrible thing this sinner has done to you, robbing you of hearing a voice to call to what’s left of the angel in you.” Devil squint at her through a lock of her hair, ears perked at the musical lilt the other put into her teasing words. “But much as I’d love to reward you for being so wonderful, I’m deeply afraid I simply can’t! Some wounds still haven’t healed.”

Devil’s eyes moved, from focused on Queens face above hers to the side that had bled so fiercely months ago when the demons whose pelt currently decorated the floor of the first floor of the tower grabbed it. The side that always garnered a reaction from the casino itself. The one Devil thought about questioning, but the immediate and viciously displeased groan of the building around her would always inform her how poor a choice it would be to so much as put a hand near it. She supposed the suspicion was deserved after how she’d handled the slit throat.

“I could fix it.”

“You’ve been trying I thought?” Queen mused, watching a lock of tar black hair twirl around her finger as she played with it. She dearly hoped it wasn’t about to take her hand off or she’d have to figure out how to get shears into the casino and enough tranquilizer to stun a yak into Devil.

“No?” Devil would have sat up had she not been so lulled by the soothing presence.

“Then what is your pitchfork doing looming over my corpse every now and again? I get wanting to show off but only I can see the lightshow it gives off what with my body being sealed away.” That got Devil to huff.

“That thing does whatever it wants, it’s tied more to Hell than it is me. But I could fix it right now. That wound, that is.” One of her hands rested on Queen’s thigh, the other tapped the table by her hip with a long nail. Queen shifted back, glittering half lidded gaze glowing, lips quirked coyly.

“Careful Boss, keep spoiling me like this and you might win my heart.” She teased. But Devil only perked up.

“You weren’t aware? That’s been my plan from the beginning.” The ruler of Hell answered much to the amusement of the other.

“I’m fairly certain your plan was to make a mortal cry and get that one ghost back for dumping toilet water on your head.” A little more deadpan, but no less interested.

“That’s how good I am at tricking people!” Queen laughed at that, a light, warm sound that brought color to Devil’s face, color that vanished when Wheezy practically barged in, almost frantic in getting Queen to come see about someone ranting about games and dealers and something being rigged. Devil was too annoyed to hear what was really said. Wheezy, later on, would beg the Tipsy trio for any booze they could spare so she could get nice and incoherent before her demise. None of them so much as spared her some cider.

***

It was difficult to start a betting pool about upper management when upper management possessed the building the workers stayed in after hours and could read all the workers with ease. They’d took to standing in the oasis pool area, suspicious of even the palm trees. The bet was how long it would take for the various steps they thought occurred. It was difficult to remember centuries ago for some. But fun called for them, and much like their leader, they had a rather poor habit of putting money to various things. It wouldn’t go anywhere, not when they were rarely brought out of Hell, but they did it anyway.

Even when the building itself started giving them the stink-eye for slipping even the slightest on their jobs. None had believed it so far along that Manager was confident enough to cart around a transformed Boss like a stuffed toy or prized pet. All were in greater disbelief that Boss had let it happen, transformed state or no. But she had, and then Wheezy caught them so close on the desk, but she didn’t have ears and eyes all around, nor did she exactly have time to spread the word and figure out who owed who. Not when souls seemed determined more than ever that day to get on the casino’s nerves. It was starting to run them ragged breaking up fights, dragging people away from the machines, bashing the skulls right out of demons who thought climbing the stage was a bright idea, and then some.

They were starting to get worried they’d have to ask Boss to walk the floor for a little, considering how cold Manager was getting. And the sparks of hellfire that bloomed near her? That was a warning of new proportions that none of them really knew how to so much as bring up. Because not once had anyone seen what amounted to a haunting in Hell. If a ghost was in Hell, it was because they belonged there, not because they were brought along by the brick and mortar entombing them on the land of the living.

That worry would wait however, especially when, close to closing, someone jabbed an elbow into Managers side. It was pure luck on their part that Pirouette had such good aim and enough power in his tired fury to drop kick them out the open front doors before the casino could nab them. They were starting to think they’d have to have an imp guard Manager’s weak point when the doors closed on the last guest. 

It was Pips turn to lock up, so she was the first to hear the odd noises from the tower. As she started for the rafters and the roof access, her answer came in the shape of a grand hole being blasted into the roof and the form of Boss to crash so heavily into the dance floor it left a crater. She heard her twin curse, heard Chips scream in shock, heard the door behind her tear open. She was the first of the lackeys to fall to the surprise attack from the Envious one. Her spine snapped, body tossed into her twins, she wasn’t even a pause for the power drunk entity.

Front doors swinging off their hinges, one was torn the rest of the way off to be used as a shield, bashing into Phear, snapping bones under the force and weight. Mangosteen was dog piled under a pair of demons that darted through the entrance. Her head bashed into the floor until she stopped grinning. Chips was far too afraid, a deer in the hunters sights, and made for easy subduing. She wailed as claws slashed across her face, tearing her eyes, rendering her blind. Pirouette’s leg was grabbed, snapped, twisted until it broke off entirely, and thrown hard enough to sail over the railing down to the track below. Wheezy body-checked one of the ones on Mangosteen, even incinerating half its face before the other caught her and just lobbed her into the bar.

The kitchen workers, in the presence of a place they’d learned rapidly they couldn’t Molotov to oblivion, tried to put up whatever fight they could. Hopus tried helping, but she couldn’t do much when her hands were ripped off, spraying red across the bar where she’d been helping cleanup. Chimes didn’t really react to having her eyes gouged out, she merely laughed until her throat was torn out and she was tossed like garbage on top of the slot machines. All of it happened so fast, so swiftly were the bartenders disarmed literally. So precisely were the workers brought down before ever lending aid to their Boss in the first coordinated assault they could remember happening in a thousand years.

And it truly had been so long since any had been good enough to lay a hand on their Boss, for she laid there, broken and stunned still from pain she hadn’t felt in that time. She didn’t even lift her head as her workers were crushed mercilessly. She just stared at the ceiling through her remaining good eye, the other shredded and useless. Stared at a bright green mosaic that stared back with hellfire and a vow.

“I told them you’d slipped. Did I lie?” Those bent to the envious ones whims answered eagerly. She nodded back, head high, green flesh flushed deeper with adrenaline and glee. “So weak you are now! One hit and you don’t even stand! How pathetic, is it any wonder even Hell doesn’t save you?” The pitchfork indeed wasn’t there, hadn’t been at her side in the tower when the attack fell on her. She’d been too distracted, too excited for a voice she’d finally hear sing once an old wound was sealed. She’d been thinking of what song she wanted, if she even wanted to request one, if she even knew what would best suit her managers voice.

Green danced like embers in her eye, and the lights flickered.

“Oops, I’ll get that fixed when I have all the wealth Hell has to offer at my disposal. And a color change too. No temple of mine will have red.” The Envious one mused loudly as she strode to the still form of the fallen ruler. A brush of cold air, a noise of surprise, and she twisted, confused. The demon that had been standing over Mangosteen in case the tank of a woman got up was gone. Which, she supposed he was simply moving to a different future trophy. And after she viciously stomped on Devil’s throat, hearing it give under her weight, cutting off any noises of pain the other could give, she remembered there was one more.

“How could I forget!” She lamented light-heartedly, turning to tell one of the souls who’d taken down Chips to go up the stairs.

The spirit wasn’t there.

But Chips was still down, still weakly patting at her torn face. So she looked for one of the others. A demon, beasty and heavy, the one who’d torn off the arms of the bartenders, answered her gesture to go up the stairs. She heard something land behind her, turning sharply in time to see some debris clatter to the floor, remains of the blown open ceiling. Turning back, she caught but a flash of white and violet before the lights went out again. It sounded as if the lights were straining to stay on, stay powered through the damage. A low hum that made the hairs on her arms raise. A cold sensation washed over her.

The lights returned, fighting past the second blackout.

The demon was gone.

“He’s going to break the little spirit.” She groused, displeased that she hadn’t even heard the door to her last prizes door open. She herself started for the stairs, but not before drawing out a harsh noise of agony from the downed beast of sin by stomping on her already broken ribcage. She reached halfway up before she heard heels clicking along the dance floor. She was facing that direction though, and yet, all she saw was a crater, a fallen leader, and white. She paused.

Bathed in the brilliant glow of the chandelier, crystals spilling rich golden light sprinkled with refracted wisps of color, the Manager stood but for a blink. It took the Envious ones breath away, and she suddenly wished she hadn’t wrecked the electricity as it died once more. Before she could see more than an almost holy sight. She hurried back down, looking at the front entrance as well, calling for someone to block it in case she tried to escape.

Footsteps followed her down. She just about tripped down the last few in her shock and building confusion. A noise, so frail and soft and gentle, coming from the bar. A few of the lights returned, the strip light along the second floors balcony, bathing the casino in a shadowed, eerie light. The Envious one spun in a circle, trying to spy where the pretty thing had gone, and if any of the other prizes had moved.

Chips was gone. In her place, in her blood, a word.

“Bang?” She heard one of the demons say what she had been about to. He was close enough to her that when his skull burst, she was showered in his gore. The remains toppling over into the shadows by the stairs. The building creaked, and when she got to the bottom level, the body was gone. But she didn’t care. Her ears rang, the deafening gunshot that sounded more like cannon fire than anything else leaving her temporarily deaf.

Humming from the race track had her snapping an arm out and shouting for two of the remaining demons to go search.

“Pretty little thing, no need to be so frightened of me! I’ll take wonderful care of you!” She called out into the din. A breath, almost a hum, was her answer. That, and seeing one of the demons get launched into the air, chest caved in by clear prints of a horse. Furious whinnies and shrieking flames from the stables below, the other who’d gone down hardly got out a startled scream before it was cut off. When her body was sent over the race track railing, head gone, body bent horribly from one solid blow.

Behind her, shouted the soul closest to the door. The envious one turned, becoming angry the longer she failed to find what was returning the assault. Behind a blackjack table, just finishing dealing cards. The Manager looked at her with those vivid green eyes, pressing a kiss to one of the cards before she set it on the table and vanished into the shadows. She sprint, hooves sliding on the tiles, but easily carrying her across the carpet.

Lifting the card with the wine-red lipstick mark, she held the Ace of Spades up. Under it sat the eight of clubs.

“How cute. Are you playing hide and seek? Is that what she used to do with you?” The envious one mused aloud. She was answered with a sweet laugh off to her left. Cries of horror burst out from the doorway, cut off by wet gurgling, But Wheezy was still down. The trio were still scattered.

The twins were gone.

“I’ve bested her,” She called out, a bead of sweat rolling down her temple as the air around her grew cooler still. “I’ll break them again and I’ll have all of you at my beck and call. I’m not one for games, cutie. I’d much prefer to stare at you.” She spoke as she moved, unnerved at the sounds of footsteps hurrying this way and that. Sometimes inches behind her, yet no matter where she looked, she never saw anything. Her goal was the dance floor, worried the little tart would ruin things. Or if it was someone else who was evidently patching up the workers.

“Not one for games?” So _smooth_ was that voice. She twisted to look up at the dainty thing primly perched on one of the slot machines. “First you put a hole in my casino then you admit you don’t like games? That’s insulting in ways I didn’t think possible.” The envious one lunged for the closet ankle, missing by a hair. The ghost appeared again on the stage.

“Unfortunately for you, I happen to have an addiction to them, really I blame my darling Devil for it.” Speed of movement meant little to one who could vanish on a whim and seemed to know when she was tensing to spring. She caught sight of the white-haired ghost on the other side of the dance floor. The envious one froze, the ground under her groaned.

“So let me lay down the rules, don’t worry, they’re simple.” The envious one tried to step forward but the ground cracked and dipped dangerously around her, message made clear. “If you can guess my name, I’ll let you have exactly _one_ thing you want.”

“And if I get it wrong?”

“Don’t.”

“I want a hint!” The envious one cried out, stumbling as if drunk at the rolling of the floor below her. Where had that timid little thing gone?!

“And I want a pony, we don’t always get what we want.”

“Manager?” She tried, sweating as realization dawned on her. If it had been in most any other context, that coy smile on those full lips would have been mouth-watering. But the dangerous malice in her eyes, the way the floor tilted…

“Wrong.”

She smashed face first into the office door on the second floor, breaking it clean off the hinges and shattering the heavy desk under her weight and impact. Papers scattered everywhere, blinding her, heedless of her pained fury. She ripped one off and would have thrown it had an odd heat rippling off of it not caught her attention. She glanced at it, then did a double take, and _grinned._

She emerged with thunderous footfalls, lording over the ghost who now stood beside Devil, tossing an odd pink thing into the battered palm.

“I found a ghost in that furnace, and I admit, what he said confused me! None of us call that waste of potential Queen. But now? Perhaps he was talking about you? Queen Dice?” The name rolled off her tongue, the taste of victory growing sweeter as the spirits eyes widened. A hand rose to the spirits mouth, shaking with the knowledge her attack had backfired. She hardly moved when the envious one descended the stairs, power walking straight towards her.

A smile, wobbling, straining to not go higher, not split above the gloved hand. Chest shaking with suppressed laughter. And for someone that wasn’t a demon, the sheer level of barbarous glee radiating off her was nigh unheard of.

“_Wrong.”_ The word, spoken like one would a lovers name, wrapped in sweet malcontent. All the groans and creaks around her had hidden it, the bishop pillar smashed down on her like a hand crushing a bug. She shrieked in agony, scrabbling to get away from it, blind hatred beginning to tint her world red.

“She rules Hell, I rule this Casino, and you’ve intruded on my domain. So disgusting, I don’t even want you feeding the furnace. But I’m sure Hell has ideas for you.”

She’d been _winning._ Victory had been _right there!_ She _wouldn’t let some pretty little tart ruin it._ The power of her rage gave her the strength to shove the pillar away, over onto the other one crushed into the dance floor. The other didn’t react, but the pink thing was gone, and there was pressure in the air. Pressure the envious one wanted to destroy before it grew too much. First, though, subduing a prize she’d hang by gilded chains. She hadn’t really been going as fast as she could. And while the spirit now on the second floor could vanish quickly, she couldn’t move away in time if she didn’t see it coming.

It was easy then, to go from the first floor to the second, and slam a heavy hand around a thin throat. The entire building let out an ungodly shriek, the strip lights burst, drenching the casino in near darkness. She didn’t care. She shoved the other until her back bent over the railing, perfectly exposing the wound her spies had mentioned. The scream the spirit let out when the envious ones claws dug into the knife wound, driving further and further in, shredding what she could get her hands on in her quest to reach for where the heart would be was _beautiful_. But the body under her thrashed, caught in panicked, agony filled fright. And she’d been shoving the other over the railing all that time, it didn’t surprise her when the spirit pitched over the side.

Where the golden lights of the casino had been, Hellfire burst, an inferno casting horrifying shadows on the scene as the ghost fell. As her living features dissolved into that of a rotted corpse. White hair turned dusky black, supple flesh decayed rapidly to expose tar stained bones, a gown once lustrous now filthy with rot.

The impact shouldn’t have done anything, but the table shattered under the blow.

And with it, the entire casino came to life. The railing snapped up, cracking against her legs, shattering one and spearing through the other. She would have fallen, but the building felt like expediting her trip to the ground below, floor lashing up and forward, sending her through three roulette tables. Wailing shrieks from the pipes rained boiling water and sparks of hellfire down on her prone body. She scrambled to escape the heat and rain, broken legs uselessly weighing her down. A rafter swept down swatting her into the light of the hellfire drenched chandelier high above as it spun and creaked, red light spilling from it.

Red.

Hellfire wasn’t red.

Wrapped and coiled by silver chains, bound to the casinos center, the pitchfork dangled, tines aimed right for her.

The chandelier twitched, and its weight carried it down faster than her fried brain had any time to comprehend. The pain, beyond her belief, grew infinitely worse as she was impaled under the pitchfork and the chandelier disintegrated into a skeletal mass shaped oddly like a beast, roaring at her through fangs of melted silver. Sound was impossible for her, but her torn throat tried anyway, gurgling with impressive fear. Her one good eye not split by crystal caught motion and somehow she found it in her to turn to it.

Devil, fully healed, washed in the inferno of hellfire above her, cradled the skeletal corpse. Holding one hand and stroking the thin bones, rubbing her cheek softly against the bowed forehead as the body remained still in her arms. Her hair shrouded most of the corpse from view, but she swore she caught flickers of green light in the empty socket she could see.

She choked, waiting for the fallen to tear the pitchfork from her and boot her back to her hovel. It would take a good century to fix the damage the structure had given to her. But she’d heal. She always did.

“What would you have me do?” Devils voice only came to her because in that moment everything fell deathly silent. Like the building itself was awaiting the judgement.

“S-so cl-close” The envious one bit out, coherence fighting through the undiluted pain.

Some who dealt with ghosts loved to say odd things. One such thing was that, when in a haunted building, that building was the domains of none but the spirits. None could own the space in such a way that the spirits bound to the place could. When in the presence of a presence, the very walls became threats. A simple pebble no average spirit chaser would care to notice could be life ending in the hands of something long dead. A distasteful comment could herald wrathful shrieks and scratches and bites and burning marks the living would hear and feel for days.

But Hell had never exactly had a haunting before. If there was a ghost in Hell, its because the ghost had passed on and wasn’t in its domain. And Hell was not the average place. Hotspots out in the world had _nothing_ on the sheer power it held and wielded as selfishly as it hoarded. It had given a crown to the fallen one, had given her its blessing in way of a pitchfork that answered to none other than her and Hell. A pitchfork that had seen the cracks, the openings that could be abused to steal away the thing its new guest had. A tomb guarding a lone soul was admirable, with how wonderful it had done its job, it had enamored Hell itself, and in turn, the pitchfork answered the call.

A lone spirit not bound to Devil but desired by her all the same couldn’t be allowed to leave. Couldn’t be allowed any chances of being purged, that was unacceptable. So months had been spent infusing decaying and dusting bones with hellfire, with the very essence of Hell itself. The possessions were meant only to aid, and continue the selfish wishes of Hell itself. It ended with giving the spirit things none in Hell had. A healing touch, power to bear witness and craft deals to gift to its fallen. But more than that. Hellfire followed whatever Hell instructed, a mindless representation of Hell’s purest essence that did whatever Hell demanded of it.

A haunting in the outside world might deliver nasty bruises. Perhaps lasting scars both mental and physical. Rarely did it go further. But Hell? Such trivial things like closing a door or making a board creak were _nothing._ When a skeletal hand tightened on ashen grey fingers, when a thought befell the blank mind of one as bound to Hell now as it was the building it had arrived in, the Pitchfork heard it, and where the fallen had always spared at the last minute.

There was no such mercy from the soul cradled so lovingly.

It was a bonfire so grand it lapped at the ceiling. Courteously, it refrained from scouring the walls and floors, but the body it used to fuel itself? That, it gleefully fed from until the screams stopped, until the cries ended. Until internals blackened and dusted. Until even that was scoured from the very world itself. But Hell was never one for going half-way, and it hardly had the presence to mind leaving anything behind.

That’s not what had been asked after all.

***

Devil wandered through the tower, debating on whether she should stop by the office or just go into Hell to blow off some steam. She almost went the Hell route until an imp leaping desperately caught her attention. It frantically point towards the casino. Tugging at her frayed pants until she finally waved it away. She grumbled, now debating whether to let her hair eat the thing for spoiling her already fragile mood. It was past closing, her lackeys were in the tower doing whatever it was they did when not under her direct supervision. There was no reason to enter the place and disturb rest that was much needed.

Still, the thing kept crying, kept chirping and tapping its tiny feet on the tile until she stepped and found herself in the office.

Someone was playing a song. An instrumental with strumming bass and warm trumpets and bright saxophones. That wasn’t too odd though, a band had agreed to play, so they were likely practicing. Perhaps marveling at the pristine acoustics the builders and designers had carefully crafted to allow maximum sound quality. Even some schmoe playing on a recorder could sound partially decent on that stage.

And then she heard a voice. Backed by the bass, trailed by the brass, harmonized by the woodwinds. Anyone else who heard it would forgive her for practically throwing herself out the door and to the balcony.

_‘Grab your coat, don’t forget your hat, but leave your worries, leave them on the doorstep my sweet.’_

The humming was _nothin_g in comparison. Devil wasn’t sure if her jaw was hanging, wasn’t sure if she looked stupid as she looked up at her _wonderful_ spirit. The sound washed over her, carrying a boundless joy and unfiltered wonder. A warmth so powerful she hardly realized she’d traveled through the shadows to the floor before the stage. Even with no microphone to carry her voice, the walls themselves did perfectly fine. It wrapped Devil in a blanket of happier memories, of wonderful times come and gone, promises of more to come in each note. Each word so crisp and weightless, as gorgeous as the brilliant smile and the boundless green eyes practically glowing with bliss.

When her spirit, her adoring spirit held out a hand to her, she found herself answering, reappearing on the stage,

_‘Just direct your feet, to the sunny sunny side of the street.’_

She spun on that stage, wrapped so comfortably in the overpowering happiness of one who’d regained a prized possession long thought lost forever. Swaying and moving with a light ease, and though she was no Pirouette, she didn’t need to do more than hold her precious spirit close and follow her lead. Even as the song changed, she was graced with a performance all for her.

Later, Queen would say she’d called in favors, found old instrumentalists from a past life alive on a stage that creaked in places, but was admirable in its dedication to giving its prized star a place to shine. She’d readily say she wanted everything to be as wonderful as it could be for the special performance. One she’d chased the workers out of the casino for. But for now, she and her Devil danced and she sang, smile never leaving her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I write Queen Dice, my go to references are Jessica rabbit because King Dice, canon King Dice, shares the same eyes as Jessica Rabbit and i refuse to let that go. But also Ella Fitzgerald, Ginger Rogers, and of course the original Kingly version of the character. She's cunning and gorgeous and slick and absolutely willing to lull people into false senses of security and crush them just as easily. Proleter did Ella right when he did his tribute to her with his rendition of sunny side of the street. And she's already fantastic. And of course, Ginger Rogers just lit up any room she walked into.  
Just when people thought hauntings were bad, Hell hauntings stepped up and cooed at the regular hauntings because it thought they were pathetically cute. Can you just imagine a ghost suped up on whatever hell has? At that point there's no reason to antagonize the ghost for a response, you just politely decline to go anywhere near the place because hot damn that's a no.  
The envious one, i will point you to a cartoon from the 40's called China Shop. Which features a green porcelain satyr dude who throws some fancy porcelain chick into a case because he can. And then he starts throwing fellow porcelain figures at the fancy porcelain dude who is trying to get the fancy porcelain woman who is now in the case and there's just... so much murder. Its gotta be the go to horror movie for Cuphead and Mugman. I didn't invent a new character, i just humanized the satyr thing, who has appeared in a few of my stories actually. I couldn't just have some rando grumpy goat waddle in, kick a table, and show off just how much Hell affects and infects Queen and the Casino. Mostly because Queen would pretend the goat was Devil and set it up in the office and tell angry demons and patrons to take their anger up to the grumpy goat. Which would probably just try and eat their shoes or headbutt their knee caps into the sun. Just wouldn't work i tell you. Not at all.  
No i'm not writing that, but if you want to write about a goat being appointed as Devil then by all means i ain't stopping you.  
As always, hope you enjoyed that beast of a word count.

**Author's Note:**

> There was supposed to be more but i just couldn't top that ending and here we are. There will probably be more.  
There will definitely be more.  
There was more.  
I am not apologizing.


End file.
